


Without Wings to Take Me Home

by SophroniaMiko



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angels and Demons, Different Dimensions, England is an angel, France and friends are demons, Italy is a Cinnamon Roll, Multi, Prussia is ridiculous, Romano is a jerk, Worldbuilding, bittersweet af, everyone else is human, or are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 97,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophroniaMiko/pseuds/SophroniaMiko
Summary: Unambitious angel Arthur Kirkland never bothered to earn his wings, which wasn't a big deal until he slipped and fell into the human dimension. Without wings, he has no way to return home. Earning wings usually isn't hard...but Earth's atmosphere is toxic to angels and is killing him little by little.Plus there's the problem of his obnoxious, adorable, football-playing roommate. And those pesky demons.Tough choices, little time. Tick tock.





	1. The Fall

Without Wings to Take Me Home

 

_What if I’m an angel without wings to take me home?_

_\- Emilie Autumn_

CHAPTER ONE: The Fall

 

Snow never falls in Heaven. Humans, the Halfway Children, sometimes spend so much of their lives dreaming of and wishing for Heaven that they forget to look out their windows, step outside, and be dazzled by simple, Earthly things. Like snow, for instance. Or sunshine.

The sun’s rays don’t reach Heaven. Heaven is lit by the white light of the thousands of angels, or Higher Ones, that populate its wide streets. As beautiful as angelic light is, after years and years of it you begin to pine for something more…substantial. Angelic light doesn’t warm you through and through the way sunlight does. The only angels who actually emit a decent amount of light are the ones who are full-fledged—that is to say, they’ve earned their wings. It’s a common human misconception that all angels have wings; wingless angels don’t look very good in paintings or on the front of greeting cards, after all. Wings aren’t grown during some sort of angel puberty, nor are they genetic. They’re earned, like a license or a diploma.

Earning one’s wings is a big deal in Heaven, for with it comes respect, a bright holy light, and the freedom to move between the dimensions as one is allowed. The dimensions included Hell, which, contrary to popular human belief, is a favored vacation spot for weary angels. In Heaven without wings, one has no way of producing enough light for one’s surroundings and thus must seek out the company of fully-fledged angels. This is supposed to encourage novices to hurry and fulfill their wing requirements, but to the less sociable angels it is an enormous hassle.

Arthur Kirkland was one such awkward angel; he was too aloof to be recommended by others for the Wing Program, too stubborn to protest being ignored, and too introverted to hang around any other angels besides the ones who lived in his section of the Advanced Cadets Quarters. ‘Advanced Cadets’ was a euphemism for _useless wingless angels_ , and everyone knew it. Because of this, Arthur spent most of his life in his own dim light, or that of his few mates.

Arthur was respectable enough for human standards, but very much a failure by angelic standards. Everyone who lived in his hall was considered to be the chaff of Heaven; they were angels who were going nowhere in life and were content with just that. The Seraphim on the High Board were always annoyed with him for some reason or another, it seemed, and he simply didn’t care enough to try to change their opinions. It was bad etiquette for angels without specific missions to dig holes in the Dimensions and peek down at Earth, for it was seen as longing and Heaven was strict on the policy that no _true_ angel would ever want anything other than their rightful place in Heaven.

Arthur, however, couldn’t resist opening small portals and watching the daily to-and-fro of the humans down on their terrestrial habitat. Humans were so fun…they wore bright colours, which were reserved for only the high angels in Heaven. Sometimes young humans even coloured their hair in vibrant shades, even if only for a little while. They ran from place to place in the sunshine, showcasing an amazing spectrum of emotions from overwhelming glee to deep sorrow and from destructive anger to a softer kindness than even the best of angels. They had drama in their lives. They formed friendships and clubs, they created art, they made glorious music, and most fell in love at some point in their lives. Romantic love had evolved in angels as well as in humans, but it was different. Angels didn’t reproduce in the same way humans did and had vastly longer lives, so there was much less passion and haste. As there was not supposed to be any true misery or hurt in Heaven, angels’ emotional vocabularies were much smaller and confined mostly to positive emotions.

Arthur didn’t feel like he had much to be positive about, so for the most part he felt quite emotionless. It was a drab state of being and he was less than thrilled with his own existence. The less he was interested in his own life, however, the more interested he became in those of the humans down below and the more time he spent digging holes in the Dimensions to watch the funny creatures. Sometimes his friend Shelly would come and sit with him, though she wasn’t interested in the humans the way he was.

Shelly was an Advanced Cadet as well, stunted in ambition because of her preoccupation with the few animals (called Helpers) in Heaven. She had no time or desire to complete the Wing Program because she would rather spend her days chasing down the green winged rabbits common in the Southern Quarter, feeding the colorful unicorns in the forested homeland of the Cherubs, or trying to learn the language of the furry piglets which the angels used to dig wayward stars out of the Dimension. These Helpers were usually cared for by the Fallen, angels who had broken laws or done something worthy of losing their angelhood. Respectable angels, even lowly Cadets, were expected to focus on higher tasks. As it was in Arthur’s case, the High Board had no use for Shelly’s antics and ignored her as much as possible.

She was a pretty girl with smooth nut-brown skin and dark hair that she kept tied in two tails with red ribbon. Her eyes were wide and the color of chocolate (one of the only imports from Earth that the High Board allowed because they were as addicted to it as everyone else). Had Arthur not been preoccupied with his own misery, he would have been very attracted to her, but as the case was, he thought of her only as a companion and confidante.

One day, she watched him use his hands to plunge into a seam in the Dimension, scooping out handfuls of the stuff until the light from Earth burst through. It was snowing on Earth and she joined her friend in staring at it through the small hole. “Whoa, Arthur, look! When they breathe, their breath comes out in clouds!” She held her small hand over the opening. “Feel how cold that is! How do the Earth animals survive?”

“The humans are wearing layers of clothing,” Arthur mused. “I wonder if that keeps them warm enough. I wish I could touch the snow, just once, you know? Just…just to see what it felt like. It looks soft, don’t you think?”

Shelly looked closer. “I don’t know. It looks kind of shiny, like it might be hard. Maybe it would hurt. You know, some angels use Flashes to get to earth when they’re in a hurry. Maybe I could ask them if they’ve ever felt snow before.” Flashes were quick-footed quadrupeds made of a heatless flame, prized for their speed and relative comfort between the dimensions. They couldn't be ridden, but they could be harnessed with bindings made of a special alloy and used to pull things like wagons or chariots.

“I guess. Look, they’re building a snowman over there! I’ve read about those! If only I could get a closer look…” He leaned in closer to the hole, straining to see further.

Shelly yelped a bit, pulling him back. “Be careful, Arthur! You know that the Dimension get weak around holes! You might fall in!”

Arthur laughed. “Don’t be a ninny, I’m not going to fall in. You worry too much. Look, they’re using food to decorate the snowman’s face. What are those? Are those M&Ms?”

“Looks like it. Oh boy.” Shelly put her hands on her stomach and sighed. “Now I want some chocolate. Let’s go down to the Post and see if they have any left!” She both wanted to actually eat candy and also divert her friend’s attention. He was starting to worry her and the High Board would be sore if they had to discipline them twice in one month.

“You go on ahead,” Arthur murmured distractedly. “I’ll catch up with you.” He took off his halo, which was obstructing his view with light pollution, and laid it beside the hole.

“No, come on, come with me. You spend too much time watching the Halfway Children, anyway. Let’s have some fun.”

Arthur knew how to make her go away. “And you spend too much time with the Helpers, don’t you?” He fired back. “We each have our quibbles, don’t we?” Just as he had predicted, the girl huffed at him for a moment, then flounced away. What he had said was right and she couldn’t deny it. He watched her go, then turned his attention back to the hole he had dug. Two of the snowman-builders had left, leaving one young girl who looked rather lonely. She had big brown eyes and one braid down her back.

Arthur shifted his sitting position to get a better look at where the other kids had gone. He had just gotten settled when he looked again at the girl and realized that she was looking back at him, something that wasn’t supposed to be possible. Had he made his Dimension hole that big? Could she see him? Her mouth was agape and she made eye contact with him. He leaned forward and smiled tentatively. She screamed and ran into the house behind the snowman. He, trying to make calming gestures, leaned forward even more, lost his balance, and fell into the hole. Frantically, he scrabbled on the edges of the hole for a handhold, but found none and plunged down out of Heaven.

When Shelly returned some half an hour later, she found a deserted Dimension hole with claw marks on the side and an abandoned halo. Immediately she surmised what had happened, dropped her chocolate, and ran as fast as her wingless body would take her to the offices of the High Board members.

oOoOo

The trip between Heaven and Earth was not a pleasant one, for you had to cross through the Dimensions of the two locations as well as a transparent buffer zone in between. Angels who were chosen to go back and forth between Earth and Heaven got used to the sensation gradually and learned tricks to control the inter-dimensional discomfort. Arthur had no such training, so when he awoke facedown in the snow on Earth, he immediately threw up from the nausea that overwhelmed him. After he had relieved himself of the contents of his stomach, he became aware of just how cold this stuff called ‘snow’ really was. “Gahh!” He cried, pulling himself to his feet and trying to wipe it off his skin as fast as possible. Heaven did not have seasons like Earth; it stayed a constant warmth all year round, so angels were used to going about clad in only a thin toga-like outfit. Lower angels rarely used shoes and consequently, Arthur’s feet were bare and burned from the bite of the ice.

He cast about, still dizzy, for someplace to stand that wasn’t covered in cold white, but couldn’t find one and so jogged a little ways until he reached a gate. He had apparently fallen in some sort of city park, for he burst out of the gate and found himself on a street of shops not unlike in Heaven. He looked around for a moment and then dashed into an open store. Judging by the posters of pastries and muffins on the walls, this was a bakery. His first inhale confirmed his guess—the air smelled wonderfully of cake. A young woman with short blonde hair decorated with a wide red ribbon stood behind the counter and stared at him, surprised. “May I help you?” She asked, frosting dripping from a piper in her hands.

“Er,” Arthur replied, shivering and shifting his weight from one icy foot to another. The floor was laid with linoleum, which did little to warm his toes. “Where am I, if you please?”

The girl continued to stare, nonplussed. “You’re in Britannia. You lost?”

“You could say that.” Arthur rubbed his hands together to get feeling back and looked around. The bakery was cheerfully decorated with bright colors and a fireplace blazed at the back, next to an advertisement for waffles. Noticing the flames, the freezing angel ran to them and held his hands up for warmth.

“I’m Emma,” The girl offered, returning to her work of swirling frosting onto the tops of orange cupcakes. “What in the world are you doing outside dressed like that? Halloween was a long time ago.”

 Arthur looked down at himself and frowned. “It’s…er…that’s...” _What am I going to do now?_ The mere fact that he was talking to actual humans made his heart thump with excitement, but he couldn’t forget the pickle in which he’d placed himself. Oh, why didn’t he listen to Shelly?

“Holy smokes!” Emma had leaned over the counter and was ogling the other’s bare feet. “You don’t have any shoes!” Arthur blushed, embarrassed, and her face softened in response. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to sound like that…I…listen, are you, um, you know, _homeless_?”

No, Arthur was not homeless. He had a nice, dark little dorm room where he _ought_ to be at this moment. Sighing, he looked out the glass doors and up at the sky, which was empty except for the constant frozen precipitation. Did anyone in Heaven even know he was missing? Shelly would find out soon, hopefully. Someone would surely come for him once they found where he’d fallen…but for now…“I guess I am now,” he replied anxiously.

Immediately Emma was at his side, pushing a cupcake into his hand and draping a blanket over his shoulders. “Oh no! It’s so cold outside! Stay here by the fire for a while. Can I get you something hot to drink? Tea?” Arthur had no idea was tea was, but he nodded anyway and Emma scampered off. Presently she returned with a steaming cup of liquid, which she put into the hand that wasn’t holding the cupcake. Arthur looked from the sweet to the cup, unsure of what to do. “Well, drink it,” she said, laughing. “It will warm you up.”

The tea was light brown and milky with a slight sweet smell. He took a sip and opened his eyes wide as warmth spread through his entire body. Eagerly, he took another drink and burned his tongue. “This is bloody fantastic!”

Emma laughed again. “Don’t hurt yourself! Have you never had tea before?”

“No.”

“You’re a weird bird, er…” She looked at him awkwardly.

“Oh, my apologies. My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” He drained his cup and took a deep breath, finally feeling warm for the first time since the fall. “Thank you for the tea.” The sky outside was darkening; night would fall soon. The snow had stopped, but Arthur knew that the temperature would lower even further with the loss of sunlight. Why hadn’t Heaven sent someone to fetch him yet? Surely Shelly had realized what had happened by now. He sat on the fireplace hearth, nibbling the cupcake and watching customers enter and leave the store until Emma finally closed the door behind the last customer.

She wiped down the counters of the kitchen, then sat down beside Arthur near the fire. “I can’t let you sleep here because I don’t own this property. I just run the day-to-day workings. I also can’t send you out info the cold like this, either.” She pondered for a moment in silence. “Let me make a few calls.”

Arthur watched her go, feeling hopeless and panicky. As soon as she’d disappeared into the back of the store, a bright flash of light illuminated the air in front of him. He stood, thinking the High Board had finally sent someone to take him home, but was surprised to see an envelope flutter to the ground instead. The cream-colored envelope was labeled with his name in light blue ink. Confused, he picked it up and slipped a finger under the seal on the back. Contained inside were two items: a letter and a plastic card. The letter read:

_Advanced Cadet Kirkland,_

_It has come to the High Board’s attention that you have overstepped the interdimensional boundary and fallen to Earth. Unfortunately, there are no scheduled visits near your location for the next fourteen years and the Council has decided that we are not in a position to spare resources to deviate from our current plans. You are therefore extended two options: complete a fast-tracked Wing Program on Earth as a study-abroad Cadet Scholar, or choose Earth as a permanent residence. Keep in mind, however, that the Earth’s atmosphere is extremely inhospitable to Angelkind and your time would be limited to six months before you were reabsorbed into the Dimension._

_We await your decision. Please put it into writing and send it back in the same envelope._

_Also note that we have included a debit card in your package. It is linked to the Heavenly Emergency Fund Account and is intended to allow you to assume a modest living while you are on Earth._

The letter was signed by all twelve of the Head Seraphim as well as the seven lower Captains of the Go-Betweens. Arthur stared at it, suddenly sick at his stomach. Heaven had rejected him. They weren’t sending someone to carry him home. They had given him the choice between earning his wings as fast as possible or slowly dying from atmosphere poisoning. The reality washed over him in waves. Heaven was willing to let him die and be reabsorbed by the Dimension. He was worth less than the trouble it would take to organize a rescue squad. They’d sent him a link to enough money to keep himself comfortable until he either graduated or succumbed.

He was abandoned.

He was alone.

Of course he would not allow himself to die without a fight. He would try to earn his wings and get back to Heaven by himself before he was overcome with illness. He would not be disposed of so easily. A cold that had nothing to do with his scanty clothing overtook his heart. He’d always known that Heaven thought he was useless, but not to this extent. Anger burned inside his chest. His life was deemed disposable. No one cared whether he lived or died. He was truly, honestly alone.

Bubbling with emotion, he scrawled “Wing Program” on the back of the letter and stuck it back into the envelope, which immediately disappeared. He wondered when Heaven would respond, but decided that he didn’t really care. Utterly morose, he pocketed the debit card and sat, motionless, until Emma finally returned. “So. I’ve called my friends. No one had any space to spare except one, but he wants to know if you can pay a small sum for rent. Can you do that? If not, I can cover you for a little while.”

Remembering the plastic card in his pocket, Arthur nodded. “I think I have enough for a few months. When can I move in?”

“Tonight, I guess,” Emma said cheerfully, delighted with the success. “He said he had just gotten out of the gym and was going to head over here now to meet you. He’s a nice enough guy; a little overenthusiastic sometimes, I guess. The gym’s not too far away; he should be here soon.” She went into the back room again and came back with a lavender coat. “This is my old coat from when I was in Belgium. I never wear it anymore, so you can have it if you don’t mind the color.”

He took it gratefully, slipping his arms into it and zipping the front. “Thank you. Really. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem,” she replied. “Now I’ve done my good deed for the month!” She put on her own coat and pulled on rain boots. “Alfred said he’d bring some extra sneakers for you.”

“Alfred?”

“Yeah, that’s the--”

At that moment, the door swung open and a tall blonde man entered the shop, clad in a t-shirt, jacket and sweatpants with an athletic stripe. He looked about twenty or so, with shining blue eyes behind rectangular wire glasses. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and the exercise from which he’d just come. “Yo, Emma! I’m _so_ hungry! Can I have some cake?”

Emma rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Should you eat sweets after working out? And where’s my money for the last cake you ate?”

“What, I can’t pay with my good looks? Look at these biceps—I’ve been working on them for weeks!” He flexed an arm teasingly.

“I guess that’s worth a small slice,” Emma said, giggling. Arthur had to stop himself from gagging on the ridiculousness of this conversation.

Alfred punched the air. “Yes!” He then turned his attention to the figure near the fire, which shrank away in wariness. “Hey! You must be Artie! I’m Alfred F. Jones, nice to meet you!”

Arthur shook the outstretched hand reluctantly. It was large and warm. “It’s _Arthur_ , actually, but hello.”

“So I hear you’re looking for a place to crash,” Alfred continued, as if he hadn’t heard the correction. Arthur didn’t fully understand what he meant and so just nodded. “Great! I share a two-bedroom apartment with my brother Matt and my friend Kiku. Each bedroom is large enough for two beds, so we have an extra space open. There’s a bathroom, a kitchen, and a kickass TV for gaming. We can negotiate the rent, but it shouldn't be too steep. What do you think?”

It sounded acceptable, but… “With whom will I be rooming?”

“Me, dude! Matt and Keeks didn’t want to room with me, cuz they’re totally lame. Joke’s on them, though! We’re gonna have a blast!”

Arthur pressed his lips together. “Oh.” What other option did he have? Surely it couldn’t be so bad. “I accept.”

“Sweet!” Alfred grinned. “Let’s go home, then. I can introduce you to the other guys. Here’s an extra pair of sneakers for you, by the way.”

Arthur looked around for his luggage, then remembered that he had none and so pulled his coat tighter and moved towards the door, slipping on the shoes as he went. They were far too large for him, but he just laced them tighter, remembering how he’d learned to tie the laces on the ceremonial sandals he’d worn at his coming-of-age ceremony in Heaven. Emma bustled out of the back, carrying a bakery box and a traveling mug. The box she handed to Alfred and the mug to Arthur. “Here’s your cake, you glutton,” she said, smiling at the tall blonde man. “And here’s some more tea for you, Arthur, since you liked it so much. Best of luck!”

The boys accepted the gifts gratefully, though Alfred groaned. “Not another tea-lover. Geez, you and Kiku will get along great.” Arthur grimaced back and the two stepped out of the warmth of the shop and into the lamp-lit street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting the chapters as I edit them from their terrible young-SophMi state. I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Halfway House

Arthur followed Alfred down the street and around a few corners until they reached a tall brick building studded with windows. “Here’s the apartment complex,” Alfred explained, opening the front door. The inside was tired but clean, with a comfortable smell about it. “We live on the ninth floor. Let’s take the elevator.”

A bulb was burnt out in the ceiling of the ninth floor hall, leaving a part of the carpeted floor dark. The rest of the hall, however, was welcoming enough. The individual doors to the apartments were decorated to the occupants’ tastes. Arthur followed Alfred to the right and down the hall. “We’re pretty well acquainted with the other folks on our side of the hall. Most of them are kind of like us: young, poor, and trying to do the whole ‘adult’ thing. Some of them go to the local college, like Lili and Feliciano. Ludwig, in that apartment, is a physics grad student. Elizabeta and Matt are grad students, too; Matt is studying biology and Elizabeta is doing some sort of physical therapy thing. All of the others have jobs, except for Gilbert. I dunno _what_ he does.”

Arthur felt overwhelmed. All these humans had such complicated lives, and he was still just an Advanced Cadet. How was he supposed to act like he was one of them? There was a floral wreath on one door near the elevator, two pots of colorful gentians and saxifrage across the hall, a small bundle of bells hanging on one of the doors’ knob, and a welcome sign written in both Korean and Mandarin on a door at the end of the hall. The only bare door was across from the bells. It attracted Arthur’s attention because there were large, dark red stains on the carpet extending under the door, looking for all the world like blood stains. Arthur shuddered and stepped closer to Alfred.

Alfred stopped at the door across from the one with the welcome sign and dug in his jacket pockets for his keys. A Japanese lantern hung off a hook near a peephole and below that was a pennant for the Britannia Eagles, obviously a sports team of some sort. Finding his keys, Alfred unlocked the door and beckoned Arthur inside. The air smelled like food and it was warmer inside the apartment than in the hall. Another young man sat at a kitchen table and looked up as the two entered. At first, Arthur gasped at the sight of him, because if was as if Alfred had cloned himself and sat the clone at the table as a joke. As he looked on, though, he saw that the new man’s hair was longer and wavier, and his eyes were a bit different and darker in color. His build was slighter, which gave him a softer air, and his face was rounder with more delicate features. “Yo, Matt! Check out our new fourth housemate!”

“Hello,” Matt said shyly, standing and offering his hand. “I’m Matt, like Alfred said. Pleased to meet you.”

Arthur took his hand without hesitation. “My name is Arthur Kirkland. Nice to meet you as well.”

“Come on, I’ll show you our room,” Alfred directed. A living room with an area for eating was attached to the tiny kitchen and a short hallway extended away from the two. One room was on either side of the hall and a bathroom was located at the very end. “That one is Kiku and Matt’s room,” he said, pointing to a closed door. “And this one is ours!”

Entering the room on the right side of the hall, Arthur immediately noticed the mess on the room’s left side. The desk was covered with food wrappers and open comic books were strewn across the bed. A collection of jerseys was heaped in a corner along with various socks and other clothing items. Video game posters hung on the walls and game manuals were stacked on the floor on top of electronics of all sorts. Arthur was appalled at the sight. _Does he live like this?_ The opposing side of the room was bare (refreshingly so, in Arthur’s view) save for a stripped bed, a small writing desk, and an empty bookshelf. “Here, let me turn on the light for you,” Alfred muttered, flipping a switch.

Light flooded the room and Arthur gasped. “You have artificial lighting in your rooms?” Immediately he regretted the question as he remembered that humans didn’t glow and thus had to invent some other form of illumination.

Alfred ogled him, a strange look on his face. “Yeah. We have electricity. Where have you been, bro?” When Arthur turned away, he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, right? This is your home now for as long as you want it. We’ll lend you some sheets and stuff for tonight and you can go to the store tomorrow if you want and get your own. You cool with that?”

“Yes, that’s fine, thank you,” Arthur replied, taking off Alfred’s sneakers and shrugging off the jacket Emma have him.

“Awesome. I’m gonna go shower and see what’s for dinner. Spare sheets are in the closet on the top shelf, so take your pick.” Alfred took his own sneakers off and started stripping off his clothes for the shower. Arthur hadn’t anticipated this level of familiarity so soon and so blushed and hurried out of the room. Without anywhere to go, he wandered back into the kitchen and sat at the table.

Matt stopped working on the papers in front of him and smiled at the newcomer. “So where are you from, Arthur?”

The angel blanched. “Er…someplace you’ve probably never been.”

“Oh.” Matt kept his face neutral despite the dodgy response. “What brought you to Britannia, then?”

“It…it was an accident, actually,” Arthur said, laughing nervously. “I didn’t mean to leave my home but, well, I made a bit of a mistake, one thing led to another, and here I am. I really only plan on staying until I can go back.”

“Interesting. What’s keeping you from returning home? Can’t be money, since Alfred said he was charging rent.”

“No, there’s…something I have to do. Once I do it, I’ll go back.” Arthur realized he wasn’t making much sense, but didn’t know how to clarify. “I don’t know how long it will take, but I hope to find out soon. Thank you for offering me a place to stay.”

Matt smiled again. “Glad to help.” His eyes traveled over Arthur’s strange garb, but he stuck to his manners and didn’t mention it. “Alfred called me after he left the gym and told me about you. I was excited to meet you! I think we’ll do well together. I’m not here very much because of my work at the University, but Kiku and Alfred stick around most days.”

“Do they work at the same place as you?”

“Oh, no. Kiku does computer programming and Alfred, well, here he comes now. He can tell you himself. I bet he’d like that.”

Alfred grinned, his hair wet from the shower. “What’s this?”

“I was just wondering what you did for a living,” Arthur said, noticing that Alfred wore Superman pyjama pants. Cadets took a few Middle Children culture classes and Superheroes had been mentioned.

“Oh, yeah!” Alfred bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. “I’m the kicker for the Britannia Eagles! That’s our local professional football league. It’s like, two steps below the NFL, dude! I’m gonna work my way up and be famous!”

Arthur felt like he should be excited for Alfred since the young man was so obviously enthusiastic, but found it hard to muster any interest at the moment. “Ah, yes, so you…er…you kick things, do you?”

Matt snorted into his papers and Alfred threw a curious look at the angel. “You don’t know much about football, do you? I, like, kick the ball halfway across the world and make field goals!”

From his studies, Arthur knew that Earth was a big place and was therefore increasingly suspicious of his new roommate. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“What?”

“Kicking the ball halfway across the world.”

Alfred looked blank in response. Matt glanced between the two and piped up. “Oh, it’s a joke, Arthur. He was just exaggerating because he’s…Alfred.”

“Oh.” Arthur was embarrassed. Not many angels had a sense of humour…he would need to adjust to that. “A-and I do know about football! You play on a large, flat field, and there are two teams who kick a ball into each other’s nets. There are two keepers and--”

“No, no, you’re talking about _soccer_. I play _football_. Totally different, dude.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s called football,” Arthur said slowly, panicking. He had aced this test in Cadet School.

“Look, I _play_ football, I know what it _is_. You’re talking about soccer, which--”

‘No, he’s right,” Matt interjected. “In most of the world, soccer is called football, or futbol. Yours is usually called American football.”

Understanding spread across Alfred’s face. “Oh! So you’re foreign! You must be from Europe!”

He had unknowingly provided the angel with an out. “Yes!” Arthur replied quickly, sighing with relief. “I’m foreign. Very, very foreign!”

“Why didn't you say so, dude?” Alfred pulled a box of cheese crackers down from a shelf and grabbed a handful. “That’s awesome. You even have an accent and everything; I can’t believe I didn’t notice before now.” He shoved the handful into his mouth.

Matt laid his pencil down. “You’re foreign and you got lost and ended up in Britannia? What, did you take the wrong flight?”

Arthur laughed wryly. “Something like that. I’ll take the right _flight_ back to my, er, country once I finish my project.”

“Well, if you need any help, please let me know,” Matt offered, packing up his papers.

Arthur nodded. As if that would happen.

A key jiggled behind him in the lock of the door to the apartment. After a bit of trouble, the door opened and tired-looking young man walked through it, his arms full of grocery bags. He appeared to be Japanese from his face shape and had rather round, dark brown eyes below a tidy head of medium-short black hair. He took in the three figures clustered about the table, then looked at Alfred questioningly. “Whassup, Keeks? Look,” Alfred said, “I brought a guy home!”

It was to Kiku’s credit that he didn’t drop any of the bags he was holding when Alfred said that, for it gave him quite a shock and his eyes widened as he turned his gaze to look at the newcomer. From Alfred’s ill-placed words, it sounded like the American had found himself a date and had brought him home for dinner. Arthur felt the man visually examine him and cringed away. Kiku stood very still for a moment more, then placed the bags on the counter and bowed to the guest. “I am Kiku Honda. Welcome to our home.”

Flustered, Arthur jumped to his feet and attempted a return bow. “I’m Arthur Kirkland. Thank you for letting me in your house; I’ll be rooming with Alfred for the next undetermined length of time.”

Again, Kiku froze, determined not to be rude. Not only had Alfred brought a boyfriend home, but he also asked the boyfriend to move into his room? When had this happened? This was too sudden. He had to be polite. Quickly, he wracked his brain for a way to question him without sounding intrusive. “Ah, how long have you…have you been dating Alfred?”

It was Arthur’s turn to freeze. “No, no,” he spluttered, realizing the Japanese man’s mistake. “It’s not like that at all, I just needed a place to stay and Alfred offered to let me rent the fourth space in the house! We’re not together!” Behind him, Alfred was laughing heartily at the look on the two men’s faces.

Kiku turned red as he suddenly understood the situation. “Ah! My apologies, Arthur! I thought…I thought…well, I was wrong in what I thought. Forgive me.” From that point on, he seemed to relax, unpacking the groceries quietly and sneaking curious glances at the new flatmate.

Alfred lent a hand, still chuckling. “I know you don’t like people, Keeks, but geez.” He pouted a bit. “I don't just pick up randos on the street, you know. I’d tell you guys before I brought someone home.” Kiku just looked at Alfred, his face neutral.

After eating a large dinner of ordered-in Chinese food, Alfred passed out in his bed. Arthur came into the room a little later and prepared his own bed, then curled in it gratefully. This world was cold and he wished he had human clothes instead of just his thin toga. He was, however, sleeping on borrowed sheets, using borrowed shoes, and wearing a borrowed coat, so he felt it would be too much to ask to borrow an outfit. Kiku and Matt retired to their room and the apartment fell silent, the only sounds being vague creaks in the walls and the lull of Alfred’s breathing. Fully grasping his situation for the first time, Arthur felt his throat constrict and his heart speed up as he lay in the darkness. He couldn’t get home. He was stuck. Panic settled on him and he began to sweat through the sheets despite the cold. Shelly had been right—he should never have continued to dig holes in the dimension. He’d wanted so desperately to see how the Middle Children lived, but now that he was here, he really just wanted to be in his own bed in the Advanced Cadet barracks.

This bed, the one he was curled in now, could be his grave. If he didn’t finish the Wing Program fast enough, he could die. He didn’t wish to expire alone and also didn’t wish to bring trouble upon his hosts by inconveniently dying in their apartment. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Would it be quick, dying? He wouldn’t _die_ in the human sense, but his essence would leave his body and be reabsorbed into he Dimension that surrounded the three worlds. Would he know he was being reabsorbed? Plagued by mental discomfort, he lay awake for a long time before finally slipping into an uneasy sleep.

oOoOo

The next morning, the first thing Arthur saw when he opened his eyes was Alfred doing chin-ups on a metal bar that was stuck between the bedroom doorframe. The football player was shirtless and muscles rippled across his back with every pull of his arms. Flushing, Arthur looked away and grimaced. Was this guy always in some state of undress? Was this normal for humans? Grumbling against his half-naked roommate and the cold of the room, he swung his feet out of bed and stretched, yawning in the sunlight that in through the blinds on the window. Alfred heard the movement behind him and dropped from the bar. “Morning, dude,” he called out, turning to face the other. Arthur was appalled to find that Alfred’s chest and abdomen were every bit as toned as his back and turned away so as not to stare.

“Good morning,” he replied stiffly, pulling the borrowed sheets off of his bed. He intended to buy his own that day and he wanted to launder the borrowed ones in thanks.

“What’re you up to today?”

“I…what?”

Alfred gave him a weird look, which was becoming commonplace. “Like, what are you planning on doing today?”

“Oh.” Arthur shook the pillow out of the pillowcase while he thought. “I had planned to go to the store to buy my own sheets and a towel. It would also be nice to have some hu—er, new clothes.” _I need to be alert in case Heaven contacts me with my assignments, as well. Can’t tell him that, though._

“Cool. What’s up with the toga-thing, anyway? Aren’t you cold?” The tall man looked at him critically, confused.

Arthur felt awkward under the stare and looked away again. “It’s, er, traditional where I come from.”

“Right.” Alfred looked at him a bit longer, brows furrowed, then walked away to find a shirt, much to Arthur’s relief. “Actually, I need to get some new jogging shorts ‘cuz I’ve worn mine out. Is it cool if I come with you?”

 The angel sighed internally, but realized it would be good to be with someone who knew his way around the town. “Sure,” he replied, putting on a smile. “That would be lovely.”

Alfred grinned, showing even, white teeth. “Awesome! Give me a sec to change and we can go!”

oOoOo

Purchasing sheets, towels, and amenities was easy enough. There were shops in Heaven where angels bought the things they needed for their daily lives, like soap and toothbrushes. Clothes, however, were another thing altogether. Cadets were issued togas according to their size and rank. Arthur had never bought any sort of clothes in his life, let alone tried them on, and thus found himself hopelessly lost in the middle of the men’s section of a clothes outlet. Timidly, he stretched his hand out to touch the fabric of different shirts, relishing the softness of the expensive cloth and reveling in the plush colors. The harsh, unfamiliar light from the fixtures on the ceiling made the colors seem a little washed out compared to his expectations, but that didn't lessen his pleasure in viewing them. He wandered among the racks, looking at the patterns and shapes. Did he want something with buttons? These had zippers. Those pants had snap closures. This shirt had none of the above and was meant to be pulled over one’s head. How to choose? He took so long pondering that Alfred, having finished his own shopping in the active wear section, found him and exclaimed, “Dude! You haven’t picked anything out yet? Picky about fashion, or what, bro?”

“No,” Arthur snapped, grabbing the article of clothing closest to him. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed, is all. There are a lot of clothes here.”

Alfred looked around. “Uh…ok.” The store they were in was actually quite small with a limited clothing selection. “You need help?”

Help? _I’m doing something wrong._ “No, no, I, er, want to buy this.” He held up the piece of clothing he had grabbed before.

It was an argyle sweater vest. Alfred looked at it, then at its bearer, who was clearly sweating through his toga. “You sure?” Arthur nodded defensively. _This guy has never bought his own clothes before,_ Alfred realized, watching his new roommate panic silently. “Alright,” he agreed amiably. “Then let’s go to another place and get some stuff to match. Whaddya say?”

Calming down, Arthur clutched the sweater vest close and followed the other man to the register. The two hopped from department store to department store with Alfred trying to subtly (an adjective that rarely described the bespectacled man) trying to teach Arthur how to pick out appropriate outfits. As his experience and knowledge of the subject grew, Arthur realized that Alfred’s sense of fashion and his own was entirely different and stopped taking his advice. Khakis, button-down shirts, high socks, and sweaters filled Arthur’s cart. To someone who had never chosen his own wardrobe, being able to display such beautiful clothes on his body was euphoric. Alfred clearly did not understand but tagged along cheerfully.

In the middle of the loafer section of a popular chain store, Arthur felt a familiar tingle in the air. Thinking fast, he pointed out the door and yelled, “Look over there!” Alfred snapped his head to see and, in that moment, the air in front of Arthur contorted to produce an envelope that was lettered in light blue ink. Arthur snatched it and shoved it into his toga just as Alfred turned around.

“What? I don’t see anything!”

“Oh, I…I thought I saw a hamburger stand.” Arthur knew that Alfred loved burgers and had, indeed, eaten one for lunch already. “I must have been mistaken.” The athlete looked more disappointed than a mistaken burger cart ought to warrant, so Arthur quickly added, “I’m sure there must be some good hamburger restaurants around here, right? How about it?”

Alfred’s countenance brightened up. “Sure! I’ll find you one! Hey, where are you going?”

“To the loo. I’ll be back.” Arthur hurried into the men’s bathroom in the back of the store and closed himself in a stall. He pulled the envelope from his toga and opened it. It read:

_Cadet Scholar Kirkland,_

_We appreciate your prompt response. You have been accepted as a study-abroad Cadet on a fast-paced Earth curriculum. Included are your requirements for earning both the title of Permitted Angel and the privilege of acquiring your Angelic Wings. Please note the document of rules also included in the acceptance packet and read them thoroughly, fine print not withstanding. If you have any questions, feel free to direct them to the Head of Go-Betweens, Quadrant 3._

           As indicated, there was a second paper labeled “REQUIREMENTS.” Arthur skimmed over it, heart thumping.

_REQUIRED_

_\- A minimum of (4) Lives Changed in a major way_

_\- A minimum of (5) Lives Changed in a minor way_

_\- A ‘flapstone’ project—someone with whom you have made a deep personal connection_

_\- A clean personal reputation throughout progam_

_*please note that all Changes made to Lives must be POSITIVE changes. No NEGATIVE Life Changes will be accepted._

There were more addendums written below the requirements, specifying who could and could not count towards the requirements, penalties for “egregious errors,” and various other notes. At first blush, the requirements seemed short, but once he thought about it, Arthur realized he didn’t know how to change someone’s life for the better, especially not in six months.

He returned to where Alfred was standing and put a smile on his face. They bought the clothes he’d picked out, after which Arthur conveniently forgot his earlier interest in hamburgers. His companion reminded him almost immediately of it, however. He was thus coerced into eating a hamburger—“Come on, you’ll love it!”—and finally, bags of new clothes and supplies in hand, was able to return to the apartment. Alfred watched with wide-eyed interest as the shorter man painstakingly organized his closet and arranged his sparse belongings in logical, neat groupings.

As was his habit, Alfred played an hour of his favorite first-person shooter before retiring to bed, remembering that he had team workouts early the next morning. His sleep was, however, restless that night, and he awoke around midnight, sweating from a dream he couldn't remember. He sat up, breathing heavily and wiping his face with his forearm. Still sleepy, he blinked his eyes in confusion at the dim light coming from the other side of the room, something that shouldn’t exist as the windows were covered in heavy curtains and neither of the occupants required night-lights. Twisting his body around, he peered through the darkness to find the source of the light. It appeared to originate from his roommate’s bed. _Maybe he left something on,_ Alfred thought, pulling himself out of bed and clumping over to where the other man was sleeping. Upon approach, however, he realized that he had been mistaken in his earlier appraisal. Some _thing_ wasn’t glowing…some _one_ was.

Arthur was, to be precise.

Arthur was glowing dimly perceptible, luminescent silver. Alfred stopped short and stared, wondering if he was still sleeping or dreaming. He pinched his own arm a couple of times before deciding that he was, in fact, awake and faced with a guy that was emitting light. Feeling chilled, he reached out a hand and brought it close to Arthur’s hair, bathing it in a glow that tingled.

Now deeply disturbed, he stepped back. Arthur was…no, surely not. But…it explained everything—the lack of knowledge about electricity, the strange attire, the fishy back story, the strangely attractive green eyes, and the “project” he clamed to be doing. It only made sense if Arthur was…if he was an a—it sounded so crazy—if he was…Alfred gulped and finally allowed himself to voice his suspicions in his own mind.

His roommate was obviously an alien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you feel so inclined :)


	3. Angels Don't Party

Arthur woke up early a few days after he’d received his letter of requirements for earning his wings. The first thing that caught his eye was the small white chest he’d found on his desk the night after shopping. It was obviously a gift from Heaven, but he hadn’t found a way to open it yet. He had spent all of his time since then wandering around or sitting in likely places, trying to find people who needed their lives changed for the better. So far he had had no luck.

Somewhere in his mind he realized that this was a terrible way to go about fulfilling his requirements, but found himself alternately too frazzled or too lethargic to change his tack. One couldn't simply look at humans and tell whether their lives were good or bad, even with the small amount of angelic insight he possessed. The vast variety of human appearances, many of which were at complete odds with their inner atmosphere, bewildered him. If he focused his angelic sight, Arthur could see that the well-dressed, obviously wealthy businessman walking past was actually quite dark on the inside. The woman in shabby clothes was thin from giving her food to her children, but full of joy. Arthur didn’t like using his insight very much; he always got a headache from using it for too long, so he only utilized it when he felt it was necessary. By the time he returned home nights, he was too discouraged to do much more than eat something and flop in his bed.

Life at the apartment was very comfortable. As Alfred had predicted, Kiku and Arthur had bonded over their mutual love of tea and had a cuppa together every morning before Kiku left for work. Today, however, Kiku was quiet. He kept looking over at Matt and Alfred, who were eating their usual Saturday morning cereal together. Matt appeared to be annoyed with his brother, who looked simultaneously defiant and guilty. Alfred had been acting strange around Arthur ever since they had gone shopping together. Arthur would find Alfred staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but he would turn away as soon as he knew the other had noticed. Once, he even found the American sifting through his few belongings (including the white chest) as if looking for something. Oddly enough, the stranger Alfred acted, the angrier Matt seemed to become. It was all dreadfully confusing.

Kiku, however, was the constant of the household. His composure rarely wavered, though he was prone to odd fits of passion when he watched foreign dramas on television. He took Alfred’s odd behavior in stride and even seemed to enjoy his eccentricities. He followed after him in the kitchen and cleaned up small messes while gently chastising the mess-maker. Arthur looked to Kiku to see if he would reveal any insights about what was going on between Alfred and Matt, but the Japanese man was stolidly sipping his tea.

Finally, it seemed that Alfred couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Arthur, I—“

“No!” Matt stood up, throwing down the spoon he was using to eat his breakfast cereal. “You’re being ridiculous, Al, and I won’t let you be rude!” He and his twin glared at each other.

Arthur realized that his fears were true—he was the cause of the disturbance. He closed his eyes, composed himself, and then looked at the two brothers. “No, it’s alright. What’s the problem?”

Alfred eyed Matt victoriously, seeming to say _see?_ “Listen, Arthur,” Matt sighed, sitting back down. “Sometimes Al gets these strange ideas in his head and he doesn’t care about anybody’s feelings as long as he—“

“No, really,” Arthur interjected. “Let’s just get it out.”

Matt ran his hand through his wavy hair, then gestured defeat at his brother. Now given permission, Alfred cleared his throat and made eye contact with his roommate. “Arthur…are you an alien?” Beside him, Matt dropped his head into his hands.

Arthur stared back at Alfred. _This guy is serious,_ he thought, simultaneously alarmed and impressed by the man’s intuition. If the guess wasn’t so close to the truth, he might have laughed. “No,” he replied. “No, I am not.”

“There, see?” Matt picked up his spoon and took a bite of his breakfast. “It’s settled.”

“I’ve seen you glowing,” Alfred continued, ignoring his brother. “For the past three nights. The glow was definitely coming from you. You don’t have any electronics to produce light. You don’t even have a watch. How do you explain that?”

The hammer fell in Arthur’s mind. The jig was up. He’d forgotten about his own pale, pathetic light emission. Usually it was so dim that you couldn't see it in any kind of light. He blinked a few times and struggled to keep his breathing even. “I’m not an alien, Alfred.”

“You can be honest with me.”

“I am being honest.”

“I met an alien once, you know. I liked him. His name was Tony.”

“I’m not an alien!”

“There’s no shame in it! Humanity is ready!”

“I’M NOT AN ALIEN!”

Kiku finally spoke. “Alfred…he’s telling the truth. You should let it go.”

“Fine.” Alfred threw up his hands and shoveled some cereal in his mouth. After swallowing it, he pointed at Arthur with his spoon. “But promise you’ll answer this last question honestly.”

After a moment, Arthur nodded. “Alright. I promise.”

“Are you human?”

No one stepped in to save him and, again, Arthur felt the cold of being alone. He looked between the faces of the apartment’s three other occupants and found only curiosity, even from Matt, though he looked marginally guilty. Arthur had promised honesty to Alfred. He couldn't break his word. His disguise was failing; everyone could see it. They might as well know now. Why not tear the bandage off? His stomach flopped inside him. “No.”

A very pregnant pause followed his answer. Matt and Kiku’s faces paled, but Alfred just looked vindicated. The morning light suddenly felt unreal, like the four young men were in a shared dream from which they must eventually awaken. Voice quivering with interest, Alfred asked the question that naturally followed: “So what _are_ you?”

Arthur snorted, the tension spell breaking. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he said dismissively, drinking from his teacup.

“Try me,” Alfred challenged.

Feeling a strange, irritated pride, Arthur set his cup down and looked mockingly at the other. “I’m an angel.”

Kiku and Matt gasped audibly and even Alfred was shocked beyond his own expectations. “But you don’t have wings!”

“Oh, well spotted,” Arthur replied huffily, rolling his eyes. “You humans and your infernal obsession with wings. Of course I don’t have wings; why else do you think I’m still here on Earth?”

 Alfred’s mind was obviously being blown. “Did you lose them? Where’s your halo?”

“I accidentally left my halo in Heaven, and _no_ I didn’t lose my wings. I just haven’t earned them yet. If I had my wings, I’d have flown back to Heaven by now.”

“So…you’re trying to earn them here so you can go back?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered, feeling relieved after purging his big secret.

 Matt finally spoke. “That’s your ‘project,’ isn’t it? The project you have to finish?”

“Precisely.”

“Can you prove you’re an angel?” Alfred asked, still openly staring at his roommate.

“No,” Arthur snapped, nettled. “Can you prove you’re human?”

“I could cut myself,” Alfred offered. “Humans bleed.”

“I bleed too.”

“Is it red?”     

“Er, yes,” Arthur shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He’d dreaded the questioning.

“Is human food digestible to angels?”

“Mostly. Chocolate is really popular in Heaven.”

“Do angels…you know?”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t read minds,” the angel grumped. “Do we what?”

“Do angels poop?”

“Alfred!” Kiku put his head in his hands, turning red. “Please do not ask such things so suddenly!”

Arthur spluttered, draining his tea to hide his awkwardness. “I…I refuse to answer impertinent questions! I have dignity, you know!”

Alfred shrugged. “I’m just curious. It’s just a question. Kiku poops, don’t you, Keeks?”

Kiku groaned. “Alfred! That’s inappropriate!”

Through all the noise, Matt reached out and grabbed Arthur’s hand, startling him. “Do you swear that what you’ve said is true? All this angel stuff?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, surprised at Matt’s sudden passion.

“I think we should help.” Matt let go of the angel’s hand. “I think we should help you earn your wings.”

The commotion between Alfred and Kiku ceased and they looked to Arthur for his answer. “Honest? Not to be ungrateful, but…why?”

“I don't know,” Matt admitted. “I just feel like it’s the right thing to do. I mean…there’s a reason you came to live with us, right? Maybe we were meant to help you.”

Though he didn’t believe in any sort of destiny, Arthur’s heart softened as he recognized earnestness in Matt’s face. “Well. Sure. I mean…if that’s really what you want.” He looked away, unused to such a warm feeling. “Thank you.”

“I agree and would also like to offer my help,” Kiku offered. “However modest it may be. Please accept it.” Arthur nodded, smiling at his tea-drinking companion.

Alfred looked wounded. “I wanna help too! Don’t forget about the hero!”

“Nobody wants your ‘heroic’ antics,” Matt teased, cocking an eye at his twin.

“I can be useful, I swear!” Alfred turned to Arthur, poking his lower lip out in a pout. “C’mon, roomie, let me help, too.”

Who could deny such blue, blue eyes? “Fine,” Arthur agreed. “You’re in too.” He chuckled, then sobered. “Really. Thank you, everyone.”

A silent cloud of commiseration hung over the room comfortably. The sunlight was real and friendly once more. “So,” Alfred said, grinning. “How does an angel earn his wings?”

Arthur pulled his list of requirements out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

oOoOo

From the moment the idea of a welcome party had been suggested, Arthur hated it. He considered it completely unnecessary and obtrusive into his personal space. “Come on, bro,” Alfred laughed, seeing his puckered face. “It won’t be so bad. Everyone on the hall wants to meet you. They’re all pretty cool.”

Kiku, who was mixing a dip for the night’s party, locked eyes with Arthur and grimaced. He was also uncomfortable with the idea of tonight’s social gathering, though he had voiced his opinion to the angel in private. Arthur made a face back, then turned his attention to the vegetables he was cutting. “What time will Matt be home?”

“Soon, I hope,” Alfred replied, cleaning assorted wrappers out of the living room. “He’s bringing the chips and stuff. No one wants to eat rabbit food at a party.”

“Alfred,” Kiku began seriously. “The vegetable tray is an integral part of any large-scale social interaction, especially when alcohol is involved. Vegetables are composed largely of water, which helps replace lost fluids and prevents dehydration.”

“Whatever you say, Keeks,” Alfred said, winking at the Japanese man, who colored in the face and spilled homemade ranch dip down his front.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Alfred was such a charmer, all ease and levity. He was absurd and so…magnetic. It was obnoxious. Matt showed up soon thereafter, followed through the door by four other men, one of whom carried a giant twelve-pack of beer. “Sorry for taking so long,” Matt apologized, putting on the table the bags of snacks he had bought. “There was some construction I had to bypass between here and the supermarket.”

After cracking open a beer, one of the four new men approached Arthur and thumped him on the back. “So you’re Arthur, huh? I’m Gilbert, otherwise known as the Awesome Beilschmidt.” He was tall and of a medium build, though the tautness of his arms suggested that he was stronger than he appeared. What really caught Arthur’s eye was the fact that he was abnormally pale with silvery white hair and pink-red eyes. “I’m albino, if you’re wondering,” he explained, crossing his arms and grinning. “Some people think it’s a drag but, really, it just adds to my awesomeness. Makes sun tanning a bitch, though. Now this guy right here--” He reached out an arm and reeled in one of the other men, a slightly shorter, stockier blonde, “is my little brother, the _non-awesome_ Beilschmidt.”

“Ludwig,” the man offered, sticking out his hand to shake Arthur’s. “Nice to meet you.” His grasp was firm and left Arthur’s hand aching. His light blonde hair was styled in a neat slicked-back cut, and his clothes had obviously been recently pressed, unlike his brother’s. “Forgive my brother, he forgets his place.” He shot an irritated glance at the albino, who chuckled.

Arthur massaged his hand discreetly and shook his head. “Not at all. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He took in Ludwig’s solidly muscled physique and decided that this was a man he never wanted to cross.

A younger man, who had been standing at Ludwig’s side, handed Arthur a cup of punch and spoke up. “Ciao! I’m Feliciano Vargas! Welcome to the hall!” He was significantly smaller than the Beilschmidt brothers and had some decidedly pretty features, like long, dark eyelashes that framed soft brown eyes; plump, shapely lips; and thick auburn hair that curled subtly at the tips. “My big brother, Romano, is over there, but he’s been in a bad mood ever since he came home from work, so I wouldn’t talk to him if I were you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur glanced over to Romano, a brooding figure in the corner, then back to Feliciano. “Thank you for coming to the party.” While they had been talking, the door had opened and two women had entered the apartment. One Arthur easily recognized as Emma, the girl who had helped him on the day of his fall. She saw him and squealed.

“Arthur! You look fantastic! Love the argyle socks!” She swept over and pulled him into a hug. Behind her back, Gilbert gave Arthur a thumbs-up and was rewarded with a scowl from Emma’s unnamed friend. “I brought you a piece of my newest cake to try!”

“Ah, th-thanks,” Arthur replied, accepting the small box she handed to him.

Alfred noticed the exchange and hurried over to the pair. “Hey,” he whined, “I used to be the one given the honor of tasting your new cakes!”

Emma laughed, producing another small box from a pocket. “I didn’t forget about you. Arthur has priority, though, because he’s the reason for this party in the first place. You can wait your turn!” Now relieved of her gifts, she motioned to her dark-haired friend, who was involved in a conversation with Gilbert and Ludwig. “Elizabeta, this is Arthur, the guy who liked my tea so much. Arthur, this is my roommate, Elizabeta.”

Elizabeta, like Emma, had a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her face was narrower and her complexion was darker than her fair-haired, baby-faced friend. “Very pleased to meet you. You _think_ you like her tea, but that’s only because you haven’t had her waffles. Those are like eating little golden pieces of heaven.”

The analogy confused the angel, who had once tasted a bit of the Heavenly Dimension and promptly thrown up afterwards. Heaven tasted terrible. “Ah,” he said, at a loss for words.

“I don't think you’ll convert him,” Alfred laughed. “He and Kiku have this weird little tea club.”

 “That’s adorable!” Emma cried, clasping her hands together. Kiku, who was nearby enough to overhear the conversation, made eye contact with Arthur and they both sighed silently. No one would ever understand the delicate, magical artistry of tea quite like they did.

More people had been arriving in the meantime and Arthur dutifully met them all, refilling his drink every so often. Im-Yung Soo was a skinny undergraduate from the nearby college who was far too excited about everything. He liked to play this prank on Kiku in which he sneaked up behind him and reached around to grab his chest, making his squeak. After a few renditions of this, Kiku took to hiding behind a highly amused Alfred. Kaoru, Im-Yung’s roommate, was calm and collected to the point of being distant. His body was lean and athletic and his hair was “very stylish in Hong Kong.” Kaoru said little, but gave Arthur a smile.

Katyusha and Nataliya lived in the apartment beside Emma and Elizabeta and were, Arthur thought, strange individuals. Both were pale with ice-blue eyes and attractive figures. Nataliya emanated coldness, refusing to smile but polite nonetheless. She was strikingly beautiful, with long ash-blonde hair and slim hands. Katyusha was well endowed in the chest and rather clumsy, as if she wasn’t sure how to handle the extra weight on the front of her body. Her light hair was cut short in a bob and she was painfully friendly, trying to make up for her best friend’s iciness. She had a little brother, “but he doesn’t come to see me very often anymore,” she said tearfully.

Throughout all of these introductions, Arthur found himself becoming increasingly personable and relaxed. A hum was spreading through his brain, though he didn’t know why, and he found his tongue loosened. By the time the last two invited guests, Vash and Lili Zwingli, had arrived, conversation was flowing naturally from the angel. Vash was a slim, muscular young man with hard green eyes and mussed blonde hair that fell into those eyes. He reminded Arthur of Ludwig, because they both seemed to be serious people who didn’t laugh easily. At Vash’s side was his little sister, who peeked out from behind her brother, her round green eyes wide. Her hair had been poorly cut into a shape that was somewhat like her brother’s. Arthur later found out that she’d recently cut it herself in an attempt to imitate Vash. She was small-framed and timid. “Lili,” Vash instructed, smelling his drink, “don’t drink the punch; it’s been spiked.”

“What?” Matt said, overhearing. “It’s spiked?” Arthur peered into the punch bowl and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t see any spikes in the drink. Matt sipped his drink and sighed. “Who spiked the punch?”

More or less in unison, all heads turned to look at Gilbert, who grinned impishly. “What? I just put a little rum in it. Just enough to get the party hopping.”

“I put some vodka in it,” another voice said. Arthur turned to see a large-built man with pale blonde hair and prominent nose. Nataliya had her arms wrapped around his waist and Katyusha appeared to be crying with happiness into a handkerchief. The man wore a long tan coat and had a cream-colored scarf around his neck. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Alfred leaned closer to Matt. “Who invited that guy?” He asked. Matt shrugged. “I guess it’s alright, as long as Arthur doesn’t mind. It’s his party, after all. You cool with the punch being spiked, bro?”

Arthur’s head felt fuzzy. “Er…spiked?”

“Yeah, like there’s alcohol in it.”

“Er…alcohol?”

It slowly dawned on Gilbert that Arthur had never drank before and he gaped. “Aw, man, we just took Arthur’s booze virginity!” Alfred and Matt looked at their friend, suddenly worried.

_Booze_ wasn’t a familiar word to Arthur, but he knew what _virginity_ meant and blushed furiously. “My…intimate experience is nobody’s business, thank you very much!” He took a drink of the punch and looked away.

Gilbert hooted. “Wait…you’ve never had beer AND you’re a virgin? Whaaaat? What are you doing, my friend?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin!” Im-Yung said heatedly.

 “You say that because you’re a virgin, too,” Gilbert pointed out. “So you don’t count. Who in here isn’t a virgin? Matt? What about you, Jones?” Both Matt and Alfred turned red and didn’t know where to look. “Hah!” Gilbert drained his beer and stood on a chair, his face pink. “You’re all a bunch of virgins! The only ones who aren’t (besides my awesome self) are my little brother and Feliciano! That’s just sad! I know they’re not virgins because last week--”

There were two simultaneous shrieks, one from Gilbert as he was body slammed off the chair by Ludwig, and the other from Romano, who had turned crimson in his corner and was now pointing hatefully at the burly blonde man. “You slept with my brother? You potato-eating bastard! I ought to punch your face in!” He started towards Ludwig, but was held back by a newcomer whom Arthur hadn’t met yet. “Let me go, Antonio! He touched my brother!”

“I know what will make you guys feel better,” Gilbert announced, getting back on the chair despite Ludwig’s efforts to keep him on the floor. “Let’s all lose our virginities tonight! I’ll take ‘em all! How about you start, baby?” He waggled his eyebrows at his long-time friend Elizabeta, who pretended to vomit.

“You’re disgusting,” she replied, both angry and amused. “Go home, you putz.”

Gilbert snickered. “Kesesese. Come with me, ja?” Elizabeta looked pointedly at Ludwig, who swung his brother over his shoulder.

“Thank you very much for the party,” he said to the four whose apartment they were in. “it was fun. I would like everyone to know,” he continued, addressing all the partygoers, “that my big brother Gilbert is the biggest virgin in this whole room.”

Gilbert’s eyes bugged out and he beat on Ludwig’s back. “I am not! I’ve done the sex and it was awesome!”

“He didn’t even have his first kiss until he was nineteen.” Ludwig continued calmly, heading for the door. “We’ll be going now, thank you.” With Gilbert cursing him out in very colorful language both in Common and what sounded like German, he left the party, followed by a giggling Feliciano.

Romano had since calmed down somewhat, but was still red-faced and stony, staring at the door through which Feliciano had exited. The man who had restrained him before introduced himself to Arthur. “Hello, amigo, I’m Antonio Carriedo. Emma invited me; I hope that’s all right. Don’t mind my little tomato here,” he put his arm around Romano’s shoulders. “He’ll be fine.”

“Don’t touch me, dammit,” Romano muttered, not making a move to remove Antonio’s arm from his shoulders.

One by one the guests left, all more drunk than they had anticipated. Kiku had long since fallen asleep on the couch, curled like a cat. Romano left with Emma and Antonio, still grumbling. Katyusha, Nataliya, and the random vodka man had disappeared already. Elizabeta apologized on Gilbert’s behalf again. “He’s just a little overenthusiastic, really. He doesn’t mean any harm by it. Sorry about that. God, he’s such a freak sometimes.”

Im-Yung and Kaoru were the last ones to go. “What a party!” Im-Yung cheered. “Let’s do it again next week! Can I take the rest of the punch home?”

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Matt asked suspiciously. Im-Yung suddenly remembered something urgent he’d forgotten and rushed out the door. Kaoru rolled his eyes and followed.

The apartment was finally empty, save for its rightful occupants. Arthur swayed his hips in time to the still-blaring music. “BLIMEY! That was a laugh!” He couldn’t feel his limbs anymore; the world was swirling in on him like a multicolored vortex. “I agree widdat Korean kid! Let’s do this more often! I love Earth and Earth’s alcohol!”

“Dude,” Alfred said, shaking his head. “What happened to your shirt?”

Arthur looked down to see his own naked chest. “I have no idea.” He drunkenly stumbled around, trying to find it. “Is it gone forever? What am I going to do? I _liked_ that shirt!”

“It’s alright, we’ll find it in the morning. Chill out, bro.”

“Oh, wow, I feel so weird,” Arthur said, giggling and wiggling his fingers. “It’s like my body isn’t even _here_ anymore. Izz like I could just…float away…” he did a pirouette and nearly fell over.

Alfred caught him. “Never had alcohol before, huh, buddy? Come on; let’s go get you in bed. Can you walk?”

“I dun think so,” Arthur slurred, relaxing into Alfred’s arms. “I’ll juzz stay right here.” He leaned against Alfred, closing his eyes.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep! Oh, fine,” Alfred exhaled heavily. “Come on, up you go.” He carefully swung the angel up in his arms, bridal style. “You’re not as heavy as you look, you know,” he informed his burden.

Arthur opened his eyes groggily and looked up at Alfred. “What duzzat mean? Do I look heavy? Y’know I really _am_ a virgin. Izzat bad? Izzat like a human thing--getting upset about it? Angels don’t really…I mean…izz…izz just _different_ for us. You know? I dun know.”

“Dude,” Alfred replied, laughing a bit. “Don’t worry about it.”

"Wuddabout you?"

“What about me?”

“Are you a virgin?”

Alfred nearly dropped him. “That’s personal!”

“M’sorry. You’re cute, y’know. So I bet you’re not.”

“I…what? Geez,” Alfred pressed his lips together and looked away, unsure what to say. “You’re so drunk. But, hey, an angel thinks I’m cute. That’s got to be worth a lot, huh?”

Arthur’s eyes were closed and his head lolled against his carrier’s chest. “No.”

“What?”

“Angels have…eh…notoriously bad taste’n aesthetics. Me saying you’re cute is probably more of’n insult than a compliment…”

At that, Alfred dropped Arthur onto his bed without any gentleness. “Man, you’re the worst! Go to sleep!”

“Mmm…night.” Arthur barely rolled over before he was out.

Alfred grimaced and pulled a sheet over the sleeping angel, then gathered his supplies to brush his teeth before going to his own bed. When he stepped outside the room, Matt was cleaning up spare beer bottles and trash. “How’s the first-timer?”

“He’s fine. Saying crazy things, though.” Alfred bent down, picked up a carrot that had rolled out of the kitchen, and handed it to his brother.

Matt took the carrot and lobbed it into the trash. “Crazy things? Like what?”

Alfred pouted for a moment. “He said I was ugly!”

At first, Matt just stared at Alfred, and then he burst out laughing. “Just like that? ‘Alfred, you’re ugly?’ That’s hilarious!”

“It’s not hilarious! It’s very insulting! I’m not ugly!” He stuck his lower lip out and slouched into the bathroom.

Matt called after him, “You could use some ego deflation, Al! You should spend more time with this angel guy!” He chuckled to himself. What a night.

oOoOo

The next morning found Arthur huddled under a sheet at the breakfast table between Alfred and Matt, sipping a large glass of watered-down tea. “Ohhh,” he moaned, holding his head. “Why won’t the light just _shut up_? Your Earth sunlight is the worst…I’m never drinking again…”

Kiku walked out of his room in a bathrobe and stopped short, looking down at Arthur with confusion. “What happened to him?”

Alfred thumped Arthur on the back. “Dude can party!”

Arthur just groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys :) Drop a comment if you feel like it!


	4. Yao

Yao Wang had been invited to the previous night’s party by Kiku, but had declined the invitation on the grounds that he felt a bit of a cold coming on. He was a small-built man who was often mistaken for a woman because of the luscious, gleaming black hair that he usually kept braided down his thin back. He had tried in vain to grow facial hair, but eventually gave up and embraced his “feminine” side by wearing flashy, embroidered silk clothing and plucking his eyebrows into a demure shape that he’d spotted in a Chinese magazine at the local global market.

Though he worked as a phone operator at the IT office at which Kiku worked, he told anyone and everyone who would listen that his true calling in life was to set up a snack shop. He hated his job and watched the clock every day, counting down the minutes until he could go home and fire up the stove. He loved the gleam of his knives as he sliced different fresh, exotic ingredients into slivers or chunks. He loved the smell of oil warming in a pan. Most of all, though, he loved how wonderful and professional his grandmother’s wok looked sitting on his counter. His grandmother had owned the most famous snack shack in all of Tianjin until her untimely demise at the hands of heart disease, but his no-good grandfather had decided to try to run the shop himself after her death and had run it into the ground.

Sometimes, when he chopped bok choy, he imagined that each leaf had his grandfather’s face. He, Yao Wang, could have been top of the Chinese snack empire, had it not been for that man. Instead, he was here in Britannia, earning money by being yelled at daily on the phone by idiots who didn’t realize that a computer had to be _plugged in_ before it would turn on. Still, he cooked a fantastic dinner for himself and his corpulent flatmate every night, and he kept himself happy by cooking extra on the weekends and delivering it to anyone who he thought could do with a bit of umami in their day.

Today, in thanks for the invitation, Yao had decided to bring a bowl of pan-fried wontons to Kiku. They were similar to the gyouza Kiku’s mother would occasionally send down from Okinawa and were guaranteed to bring a rare, honest smile to the serious man’s face. Yao had cured himself of his cold last night (or so he believed) with a magical mixture of special spices and herbs that were expensive and hard to find.

He was fond of the Japanese man, and so sprinkled the dumplings with the spice mixture before tucking them lovingly into a carrying case. Kiku was ridiculous, Yao often thought, pouting as he did so. Kiku liked traditions and paying homage to ancestors and gods. Yao’s disdain of Kiku’s traditionalism was hypocritical, he knew, because he had his own traditions and gods to which he adhered, but Kiku’s historical ways of doing things seemed somehow backwards. Even so, the Chinese man looked forward to spending sparse moments with his friend because…because…Kiku had a way of making everything seem okay. Even if Yao’s ears were still ringing because a customer had yelled racial slurs at him, Kiku’s calm, soft voice would chase away the pain.

On this sunny Saturday morning, Yao rang the doorbell of 114 H then readjusted his sleeves, which were too long and prone to sliding over his thin hands. Kiku himself answered the door and recognized the visitor with a gentle smile. “Ah, Yao. How pleasant to see you. May I assume that you are feeling better?”

“I am! My illnesses never last long because I can cure them with my family’s secret herbal magic!”

“Is that so?”

“What can I say?” Yao poked Kiku in the side, which made the other man yelp. “It’s a Chinese thing. You wouldn't understand.”

Kiku shook his head but admitted his coworker into the apartment, where his other three flatmates were seated around the kitchen table. “Alfred, Matt, do you remember Yao? He works the phone lines at my office.” They nodded and each stood up to shake Yao’s hand while murmuring pleasantries. “This is our new roommate,” Kiku continued, after the greetings had concluded. “His name is Arthur. He has only been here a week.”

Yao looked quizzically at Arthur, who had been slumped over the table ever since the visitor had walked in. At the mention of his name, however, he raised his mussy blond head and attempted a half-hearted smile. “Hullo,” he muttered before dropping his head back to the tabletop.

“Arthur has not been feeling well this morning. I apologize,” Kiku said, bowing slightly to his friend.

Yao waved the formality away. “Ah! A patient! I have just the thing!” He set his box on the table and opened it, allowing the savory smell of the wontons to permeate the room. “These dumplings have special healing powers! Perfect for someone who is under the weather!” He motioned to Kiku, who brought him a small plate, onto which he then transferred three of the snacks. Crossing over to the other side of the table, he kindly set them in front of the ailing Arthur. “Now, my new friend, eat these and feel the ancient Chinese power!”

After retching half the night, Arthur did not feel much like eating, but appreciated the gesture on the man’s part and so politely acquired and nibbled on one of the wontons. The pastry shell had been fried to a delicious, brown, crispy finish, but the inside was bursting with soft vegetables and mushrooms. It was salty and savory. Sometimes a touch of sweetness would come through and change the flavor of the whole thing. This man was a cooking genius. Quickly, he finished the other two dumplings and looked up at the cook with admiration. “These are bloody wonderful!”

“Thank you. I enjoyed making them.” Yao was used to such compliments on his food. “You see, I work in IT now, but it is my destiny to one day open a small restaurant on some street corner. It’s in my blood. One day, I will save up money and buy a place that will become the most famous snack shop in all of Britannia! I will not listen to the complaints of ignorant computer-users any more. In fact, they will listen to _me_ as I read the drink specials to them!” He picked up one of his own creations and bit into it, staring fiercely into the air as he imagined, for the millionth time, how the faces of his customers would light up when they bit into their first Yao Wang pork bun.

The other four stared at his enraptured face, then looked away because it seemed somehow rude to intrude on such shining dreams. Alfred, finally feeling that his duty as polite and reserved host had been fulfilled, reached into the basket and took out a handful of wontons, ignoring the grease that coated his fingers. “Hey, these ARE delicious! Dude, you’re awesome!” To Yao’s horror, he shoved the rest of the handful into his mouth at once and chewed happily, his cheeks bulging with the snacks.

“Those should be eaten slowly, heathen! I…never mind. I must be going. I’m off the phone lines today, but I have to run by the post office and then go to my other job. Enjoy the snacks! Tell me if you want more and I will bring you some for the low, low price of five dollars and ninety-nine cents!” He allowed Kiku to escort him to the door. “Goodbye!”

When the door closed behind him, Arthur furrowed his brow. “He has another job? It’s Saturday…doesn’t he rest?”

“He has two sisters at universities abroad and a mentally challenged brother who lives at a special living center,” Kiku explained quietly, locking the door behind his friend. “His parents renounced responsibility of he and his younger siblings, so he works extra to pay for his sisters’ education and his brother’s care. He is deep in debt and is barely scraping by on his two salaries.” He sat down at the table and sighed. “That is why he does not have a restaurant—he can barely afford his own rent. It is likely that he will never have one as long as his brother lives.”

The thought sobered everyone because Yao was so upbeat and optimistic. He was the kind of person to whom it was difficult to imagine anything bad ever happening. Arthur felt a tug in his heart and reflected on it. Then, he slapped his hand on the table, startling the others. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Alfred asked, loading his mouth with more dumplings.

“Yao! He…he could be my first project!” Arthur grew more excited the longer the thought about it. “I could change his life! Get him out of this circle of debt! I could buy him a restaurant!”

Kiku smiled softly, but shook his head. “Yao would never accept that. He has far too much dignity and pride. I have offered to loan or give him money many times, but he will not take it, even if he is about to be turned out of his living quarters.”

Arthur slouched, disappointed. “Oh.” He nibbled on a wonton, restructuring the plan. “But…what if I didn’t _give_ it to him? What if I bought it, and then he _obtained_ it in some way? It doesn’t have to be charity!”

“How would that work?” Matt asked, lifting his eyebrow in confusion.

 “Eh…” Arthur racked his brains. “I’m not sure. Give me a moment.”

Kiku slowly rose from his seat. “Arthur…I have it! I have the solution! I just remembered that Yao…he loves to play cards! He’s too smart to gamble while in such dire financial straits, but it is his guilty pleasure!”

Arthur also stood, facing Kiku and grinning. “Perfect! We’ll arrange a bit of a game night, we play cards, I wager some property that I buy with Heaven’s money, he wins, and voila! Brilliant! Kiku, you peach, you’ve done it!”

oOoOo

 Kiku and Arthur arranged to go window-shopping for properties the next day, but the snow was too slick to allow comfortable walking. It wasn’t until the day after that that they finally ventured out into the less developed side of town. “Britannia really is a wonderful city,” Arthur said happily, noting that they had passed no less than five restaurants that reflected food from different cultures. “Is the rest of Earth like this?”

“No, not quite. Britannia is often cited as a progressive town for the young, not a traditional one by any means. There are a myriad of unique people and cultures represented here, something that you rarely find in other places in the world.” Kiku sighed, thinking of some of the backwards cities he’d visited with his parents in different countries. “There are some places on Earth where you are not allowed to have your own thoughts, or, if you do have them, you are not allowed to share them on pain of death.”

Arthur gaped at him. “Really?”

“Yes. We are fortunate to live where we do. Quite frankly, though I do not wish to offend, you are quite lucky to have fallen where you did. In certain other lands you might have been punished for your eccentricities and initial…ah…lack of proper attire.”

Lack of proper attire? All angels wore togas. “You humans are remarkably hung up on your bodies,” Arthur commented, stopping to peer into an empty storefront’s windows. “You act like it is some sort of bloody crime to show a bit of skin.”

Kiku checked the “For Sale” information on the storefront’s door and shook his head at Arthur. “This one is under the condition that it is only to be used for retail, not food. And perhaps you are somewhat right about humans, though your statement was painted with too broad of a brush. There are cultures where humans wear almost nothing at all. There are also cultures where women may be beaten for exposing their ankles. There are many factors that go into the making of clothing choices. Are angels never concerned with such things?”

“Not to the same extent. It’s never cold in Heaven and, if you’re a cadet, it’s usually rather dark…we all wear the same issued clothing based on rank; there’s none of this ‘expressing your individuality’ rot. The higher-ranking angels have more of a choice, but clothing has just never…been something of interest. We worry about other things, like getting tattoos on our wings for doing services to the other races.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. Being honest with himself, he had to admit that he really liked clothing. Argyle made sense to him. It was such a sensible pattern.

Kiku just looked at his companion, questions whirling through his usually well-organized mind. There were…other races? It was a shock enough to learn the existence of angels, but he hadn’t considered what doors that realization had opened. If there were angels, why not other fabled creatures? What sort of services did angels do for these races in order to earn tattoos? What did the tattoos look like? Why were angels ranked? He settled on the last question. “What, if I may ask, is your rank?”

Arthur snorted and crossed the street as the WALK sign blinked on. “ _I_ am an Advanced Cadet. In layman’s terms, I’m a useless angel who ought to have either gotten my wings or been reabsorbed into the Dimension years ago. Once I graduate with my wings, I’ll become a Full-Fledged Angel and be assigned to one of the many Heavenly departments, like Natural-Disaster Assistance, Personal Protection, Mental Modification Squad, or Wartime Presence. There are hundreds of these departments,” he explained, looking over his shoulder at Kiku, who was hurrying to keep up with his brisk pace. “Each of them has to do with a service we render to ourselves, humans, or the Lower Ones. Our political hierarchy is not elected, like many human and Lower governments. Our governing figures are born into their positions. Once every four thousand years or so, the oldest Seraphim on the High Board is “Elevated” and a new one is born from within this Sacred Grove of Golden…hey, are you alright?”

Kiku, who had become so fascinated with Arthur’s words that he had neglected to watch where he was going, had tripped over a loose brick in the walkway. “Ah, yes,” he said, picking himself up and mournfully attempting to brush mud off of his knees. “Please excuse the interruption. You were talking about…eh…what is ‘Elevation?’”

“Honestly…I’m not sure.” Arthur stopped and picked a dead leaf off of Kiku’s coat. “I once heard this rumour that there exists a fourth plane of existence above the Three. Supposedly that’s where the Elevated ones go. One of the Head Go-Betweens swore that he saw a glimpse of this fourth plane because he was standing too close to a Seraphim who was Elevated in front of him. He said it was like paradise.” Kiku was staring at him unabashedly, his jaw wagging open. Arthur laughed shortly and rolled his eyes. “It’s just a story, though. You shouldn’t believe superstitions.”

Kiku had nothing to say and walked silently beside the angel, feeling distinctly out of touch with reality. He finally brought his mind back to the present in time to hear Arthur give a shout and notice that they had stopped walking beside a small, empty store between a coffee shop and a used bookstore. It was the appropriate size for a modest eatery, or a consignment shop for clothing. “Do you like this one?”

“It’s perfect!” Arthur stepped back and admired it. “Just the right size! I was thinking how all the lots I’ve seen have been too big and then I suddenly spotted this one! Couldn’t you see Yao setting up a kitchen in the back and a bit of a sitting area out front? He might even place a few chairs outside for when the weather is pleasant…yes…” He walked up to the information packet pasted to the door and pulled out a brochure. “That’s…well…I actually don’t know what a reasonable price is. Here. Have a peek and tell me what you think.”

Kiku took the brochure and looked at the price. “It’s more expensive than I would have expected, but well within a sensible range.” He peered into the windows and took in the coat of fresh paint on the walls. “Someone has been taking care of this building. It is likely well maintained electrically as well. You should contact the owner tonight or tomorrow if you are truly interested.”

Arthur took the brochure back and had a final glance into the dim depths of the building. “I think I just might.”

oOoOo

The owner was overjoyed to hear from a prospective buyer and agreeably allowed the price to be haggled down a bit. She confessed that she was having trouble selling it and was becoming desperate. “It’s a fantastic little nook,” she said quickly, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “But most people feel like the placement is inopportune since it’s between two well-respected businesses. I myself tried to open a crepe shop, but had to close due to family problems. The shop did well while it was open, though!”

It took a week to get all of the paperwork signed and submitted, but once the deed was firmly in his name (different types of albeit false identification having been provided by Heaven) Arthur immediately set a date for the night of cards during which he would somehow lose the property to Yao. It wouldn’t be hard for him to lose to the Chinese man, as he didn’t even know how to play the simplest of gambling games. After having gotten to know the angel over many late night talks and following him around, Alfred took it upon himself to teach Arthur the ways of Blackjack and sat him down on the floor with a stack of poker chips. “Now, see, the object of the game is to get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. You’re playing against the House, who is trying to cheat you of money.”

“The house plays cards?” Arthur asked, flabbergasted. “How?”

“What?” Alfred squinted at Arthur, trying to figure out where the stop in the logic had occurred. “No, no, not the HOUSE-house, it’s…a figure of speech. Like, you know, the Big Man. Or something. The House is the dealer.”

Arthur still didn’t quite get it, but pretended he did so Alfred would stop looking so amused. _This git_ , he thought, feeling a bit hot. _This git thinks he’s something._ “Right. Go on.”

“Right. So, everyone is dealt a card…like so. No, no, don’t look at my card, look at your card! Dude! Total cheater! Okay, whatever, you can look at mine, but just this one time ‘cuz you’re learning! Now, see? I got a seven. I still have fourteen left to go until I reach twenty-one. You have a ten, so you’re closer. Now you can decide if you want another card or not. If you want another card, you say ‘hit me!’”

Arthur looked at his ten and then up at Alfred. “Hit me!” Alfred immediately punched him in the shoulder just hard enough to startle him. “What the bloody hell was that for?” Arthur yelled, throwing down his card.

“You told me to hit you, so I did!” Alfred smirked behind his cards, trying not to laugh.

“You said that I was supposed to say that!”

“Did I?”

“Yes!”

“No, I didn't.”

“YES, YOU DID, YOU MORONIC OX!”

Alfred laughed openly now; tossing another card onto Arthur’s upturned ten. “Chill out, bro, it’s just some card humor. Your face is hilarious when you scrunch it up like that.”

Arthur sulked, glancing at his new card, which turned out to be a three. “Hit m—I mean…I want another card.”

Another card was tossed his way by a grinning Alfred. “Oh, come on. I was just trying to be funny.”

“Well ha-ha, Jones. I’m vastly amused.” The new card was a six. “I think I’m good here.”

Alfred had, in the meantime, dealt himself two more cards. “Ready for the reveal? Okay…go!” Arthur’s cards totaled 19. Alfred’s totaled 20. He cheered. “Yahoo! I win! You suck!”

An hour and nearly twenty-five hands later, Arthur still hadn’t won a single round. He kneeled on the carpet and seethed, refusing to look at Alfred’s face. “This is a silly, stupid game,” he muttered savagely. “Give me another card!” What was this? He had finally hit twenty? This could be it! He could win and wipe that smirk off of the American’s face! “Alright. I’m ready!”

Alfred turned over his hand: twenty-one, exactly. “Whoo!” He cheered, laughing loudly. “You’re so bad at this game! If it weren’t for bad luck, you’d have no luck at all!”

Infuriated, Arthur threw the deck of cards at his roommate and hit him square in the temple. “Bah!” He stalked into the kitchen for a drink of water, leaving Alfred still hooting on the living room floor.

The next day, Alfred held a bag out to Arthur, who was still feeling sore about the whole thing. “I bought you something! I thought it might help.”

Arthur considered not taking it, but grumpily snatched it from Alfred’s hands anyway. Alfred rolled his eyes and strolled away, becoming somewhat used to Arthur’s moods. Arthur opened it in the privacy of the bathroom. It was a book titled “101 Secrets of Poker Pros”. Inside was a note, in which Alfred explained that he’d learned how to play cards with the exact same book when he was a child. _Never stop trying!_ He said.

Alfred was surprised when Arthur called over to him in the dark that night, after the two had gone to bed. “Hey, Alfred,” the angel grumped.

“Yeah?”

“I just…” The angel mumbled to himself a bit. “Thanks,” he finally said gruffly. “For the book, I mean, not the tutoring. You’re the worst teacher ever.”

Alfred grinned in the dark. Arthur was all right.

oOoOo

Few combinations excited Yao more than that of food and cards, so he eagerly accepted Arthur’s invitation to apartment 914’s poker night. The gathering was open to the rest of the ninth floor hall, so when he showed up that Friday night, he was not surprised to see that there was already a small crowd assembled. _The more the merrier_ , he thought, swinging a giant picnic basket full of snacks. _The more to share the culinary art of ancient China with! They get addicted to snacks, they pay for snacks, and Yao gets rich!_ He sat the basket on the kitchen table and opened the top so the smells could enter the air and entice the guests like flies to honey. It soon worked, and the guests crowded around the food eagerly.

Arthur smelled Yao’s food before he saw the small man, but hurried over to usher him in. Truth be told, he was a little jealous. He’d tried his hand at making his own snacks for tonight’s guests but no one had touched them, not even Alfred, for whom uneaten food was a siren call. He brought the plate of his spiced biscuits over to the kitchen table and stuck it in between a couple of Yao’s dishes, then watched it hopefully.

No one so much as considered them. Maybe he’d burnt the food just a little…

The poker playing commenced once Alfred brought out his chip set and decks of cards. He offered to show everyone some magic tricks, but the only one who was interested was Im-Yung, who had somehow managed to acquire a beer, despite being told off for being underage. Ludwig, Alfred, Matt, and Kiku set themselves up as the dealers for four different card games and the guests moved in between the games, sipping wine (Gilbert’s cask of beer had been denied) and making small talk. Arthur awkwardly stalked Yao from dealer to dealer, trying to decide when was the best time to make a move. Halfway through his second glass of wine, Alfred caught his eye and twitched his head toward Yao, who was focusing hard on shaking a pair of dice in his hands. Arthur moseyed over beside the small man and watched. “Yah! Snake eyes! Yao wins again!” Yao cheered, gathering a small pile of chips from the people around him.

Alfred winked at Arthur, who nudged Yao in the side. “Oi, I bet you couldn’t do that again.”

Yao turned his head mockingly to accept the challenge. “Ha! I have China on my side. You just watch.” He made a big show of blowing on the dice, shaking them in his hands, and gracefully rolling them on the table. “OH HAH! Look at that! What you have to say to that?”

“Come on! Ok, fine, five dollars says you can’t roll a six in three tries.”

“You’re on!”  

Yao rolled. Eight. He rolled again. Eleven. Flushed, he picked up the dice and rolled the last time. Three. He stared at the dice, then pulled five dollars of chips out of his pile and handed them to Arthur. “Not very impressed,” Arthur said offhandedly, pocketing the chips.

Scowling, Yao snatched up the dice. “Fine! You roll nine in three tries! Ten dollars!”

“It would be my pleasure.” Three rolls later, he surrendered ten dollars of chips to Yao, who smirked. Annoyed by the smirk, he threw out another challenge. “Well I bet you TWENTY dollars that I could beat you in a game of Texas Hold ‘Em!”

“You fool! Texas Hold ’Em is my specialty!” Sparks flew between the Chinaman and the angel as they headed for Kiku’s table. Kiku gulped. This was all too much pressure for him in his own house.

Eventually everyone else stopped playing to watch the fearsome battle between Yao and Arthur, whose luck had held up fairly well that night. The two traded money back and forth, but eventually Arthur began losing his chips fast. When his opponent was out of chips, Yao smirked and declared victory. “That is why you do not go against China. China take all.”

“Hold up now,” Arthur said, fishing in his pocket. “I have one last bet.”

 “You don’t have any chips left,” Yao pointed out. “I have them all.”

“No, but I have this.” He threw onto the table the deed to the restaurant space, looking Yao in the eyes. “I’ll bet you this for all the chips you have.”

Yao’s eyes narrowed. He picked up the deed and opened it, then gasped. “Ah! You…you own this property? Downtown?”

“That’s right, lad. That versus all your chips.”

Looking between his chips (which could feed him and pay his rent for two months) and the deed, Yao’s eyes hardened and he handed the deed back to Arthur. “I accept.” With a somewhat regretful sigh, he pushed his entire pile of chips to the middle of the table. “What game?”

“Blackjack.”

The two sat across each other, eyes carefully concealing whatever turmoil lay within. Alfred dealt them each a card and then turned one over for the house. Yao glanced at his card, then laid it back down without any change in expression. Arthur peeked at his. A Jack. “Hit me,” Yao piped up. Alfred dealt another card to him, then cocked an eyebrow at Arthur, who nodded. He slipped a card to the angel as well.

Arthur peeked at the new card. A Queen. Darn. This was a good hand. “Hit me,” He said. Yao repeated it moments later. The two looked pensively at each other. Undoubtedly, this card would push Arthur over the top and force him to fold. Alfred dealt each another card. Yao looked at his and stayed silent. Arthur peeked at Alfred and noticed that he was smirking. Arthur had never won a game of Blackjack in his life. Why would he start now? With a sigh, the angel looked at his card. It was an ace.

The breath caught in Arthur’s chest. He’d done it. The perfect twenty-one. He could win, for the first time. There were murmurings around the room, some cheering on Yao and some rooting for Arthur. He swallowed hard. No one had ever cheered for him for anything. He could do this—he could win and be celebrated as the big winner of the night. Surely there were other ways to get this deed to Yao, right? Winning would feel so good.

Just as he felt himself be overcome with the urge for glory, Kiku sidled up behind Yao and smiled encouragingly at him. Arthur’s will faltered. He looked over at Matt, who was also smiling. Almost regretfully, he allowed himself to look at Alfred. The man’s face was impassive as the dealer, but in his eyes was a twinkle. When he made eye contact, he gave the smallest of nods.

It was then that Arthur realized that he was still being rooted for, even though it wasn’t in the conventional sense. He had friends, for the first time, and they were cheering him on for something bigger, something that everyone else didn’t understand. He couldn't let them down. He couldn’t let himself down. “I fold,” he said finally, laying his cards face down so the others couldn’t see the values.

Yao’s face lit up and he threw down his cards for all to see. “Nineteen! Yao wins!” With trembling hands, he reached out and picked up the deed for the restaurant space downtown. “Did you mean it? Is this mine?”

“Sure is,” Arthur replied, smiling despite himself. “I’ll sign it over to you tomorrow. You won it fair and square.”

“YAHOO!” Yao jumped up and down, laughing and spilling his drink. He ran over to Arthur and pumped his arms up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. “You know what I’m going to do with it? I’m going to make a Snack Shack! I’m going to quit my job and make this into the most popular place in town! Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? What a score for China!”

Arthur wasn’t used to smiling so much and so turned away from the hubbub of people congratulating the man. Eventually Alfred called out “And that’s it, folks! Everyone cash out your winnings and go home!” It turned out that Gilbert had lost nearly three hundred dollars to Elizabeta, Yao won a hundred and fifty dollars in total, Feliciano had lost the fifty dollars he’d brought to his big brother, and both Im-Yung and Kaoru had won twenty dollars each. Except for Gilbert, they were all quite satisfied with the night and went home happy.

Gilbert started a fight with Elizabeta by saying that she’d cheated, but she chased him out of the apartment with a frying pan she’d pulled from a cabinet. Ludwig sighed and wondered aloud where his big brother had come up with three hundred dollars with which to gamble since all he did was sit in his room.

By the time the apartment was empty, the hosts were exhausted. “I’m tired of parties,” Arthur said, collapsing on the couch.

“So what was your hand, anyway? How much did you go over when you folded?” Alfred asked, slipping cards back into their cases.

Arthur frowned. “I didn’t go over. I just said that.”

“Really? Well what’d you have?”

“A Jack, a Queen, and an ace. Twenty-one.”

“Whoa, really? You?” Alfred gaped at him.

“Yeah, what about it?” Arthur growled back.

“Nothing, I just…I’m proud of you. That would have been hard for me to let go, especially for all those winnings.”

“Ah…well…um, thanks.” The praise embarrassed the angel and he again fought the shameful urge to smile. To escape it, he went in to his room and lay down on his bed. A shine caught his eye and he turned his head to see that the miniature white chest on his desk was glowing. Interested, he rolled over and picked it up. It was warm in his hand. _What is this thing, anyway?_ He flipped it around and around in his hands and examined the sides more closely than he had yet done. There was no lock, but it still wouldn’t open. Suddenly his finger seemed to sink into it, and he jerked his hand back. Scrutinizing it, he noticed that there were two star-shaped spots on the sides of the chests. He thought for a minute, then pressed his thumbs against the spots. With a little tinkle, the chest top popped open.

Inside the chest were three ornate tiers, one with four medium indentations, one with five small indentations, and one with one large, jeweled, hollow. As he watched, a silver crystal materialized in one of the medium indentations and hovered there, glimmering in the light. He stared at it for a while longer before realizing that this was what he had been hoping for—this was his first mark for changing a life. The medium tier was obviously the major life changes, the small tier was the minor life changes, and the large hollow must be for the flapstone project. He’d done it! His first success! He could do this!

He could earn his wings! Satisfied, he lay back on his pillow and clutched the chest tightly. This wasn’t so hard. Taking a deep breath, he felt a tickle in his chest and coughed. He then coughed again. What was this? Angels didn’t catch Earth diseases.

A horrible thought broke in his mind. This was the beginning of the Halfway sickness. He’d barely been here a month…this illness worked fast. He had to work faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is the weakest chapter in the story plot-wise. It gets better from here on out, though.


	5. Maria Belle Schmidt

Though it was considered to be a crackpot science in Heaven, there were certain angels who delved eagerly and deeply into the subject of dreams and the art of the subconscious mind. They never made any wonderful or particularly socially helpful discoveries, and, for whatever reason, Heaven was rather unwilling to relegate to them any research funds, so the science could only go so far. As scientists, Dream-Chasers weren’t very well respected and were used to being ridiculed by the other branches of academia. Consequently, they rarely spoke to others about what they theorized and studied. If you were, however, to catch one of them in a corner of a pub in Heaven, and you expressed your own secret interest in the field of dreams and the subconscious, they might say something like _dreams know more than you think they know_.

Whether dreams and their derivatives are products of the clash between an active mind in an inactive body, a brain filing details away in a meaningful way, or a connection with some other veil of this universe with which we haven’t yet been acquainted, none can declare with certainty. But, after crunching data and doing careful analysis, the Dream-Chasers had only one solid fact under their belts: dreams have a way of coming back to us.

The night of his first big Change, Arthur dreamt in the midst of a deep, dark sleep. He dreamt that Alfred had hidden his wings in a safe in the wall. Arthur politely asked his roommate for his wings, but Alfred begged and pleaded for him to leave them be and to forget about them. Confused, Arthur demanded the release of his wings and the American finally broke down and brought them out. They were beautiful, satiny white and crisscrossed with golden and silver tattoos, spelling out all the wonderful things he had done. When he melded them into his back however, he found that they were heavy and saturated with something wet that streamed from the tips. He tried to fly, but with each flap, droplets rained down on him like from a burst storm cloud. The liquid dripped down his face and into his mouth. It was salty, like ocean water, or tears. When he tried to question Alfred, the man was nowhere to be found.

The angel awoke suddenly, though regaining clarity of mind was like being pulled from a vat of honey. Rivulets of confusion puddled in his mind until he shook them away. Alfred was still asleep in his bed, stretched out on top of the covers as if he were a quilt himself. Arthur smiled fondly to himself, then rolled over and fell back asleep. This time, his slumber was as quiet and empty as mist.

oOoOo

The members of apartment 914 only tolerated Gilbert Beilschmidt, it turned out, because he was Alfred’s favorite workout partner. The two men jogged to the gym every Tuesday and Thursday, had a workout, possibly played some tennis, and then walked back to the apartment complex together. They had an easy-going friendship that rarely went deeper than advising each other on what to eat in order to gain muscle the best, though they would occasionally share a bit of the gossip of what was going on in their lives. Alfred chattered happily and openly about his football career and Gilbert talked about various girls in an offhanded way, but, as a general rule, no mention was made of either Alfred’s love affairs or Gilbert’s work, whatever that was. The albino was not hurting for money; that much was clear from his ability to maintain his gym membership and buy expensive imported beer every weekend. Where that money came from, however, was a mystery.

Partly out of envy for Alfred’s physique and partly out of curiosity, Arthur allowed himself to be coaxed into joining Gilbert and Alfred on one of their excursions to the gym. He regretted the decisions, however, about five minutes into the short jog to the actual facility. There was no reason to run in Heaven—angels had invented a perfectly efficient transport system ages ago and Heavenly food was very light and nutritious.

Even if there _had_ been a reason to run, Arthur still wouldn’t have. He’d stayed home playing sick during all of the fitness trials in Primary. Running was a ridiculous occupation. Humans were always coming up with dreadful ways to spend their time—ways like talking on the telephone, drinking coffee, and _dear lord_ playing the banjo. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising after all that some of these silly beings actually enjoyed torturing their bodies in this fashion. Ah, but the building was in sight now. Surely the worst was over.

“Come on, dude!” Alfred half cheered, half whined sometime later, leaning over the angel who was on his back, clutching a metal bar and attempting to bench-press it. “Just give me five and I’ll let you move on.”

“ _Let me_? D-damn you…you brainless…oaf…” Arthur panted back, willing his wobbly arms to push the bar upwards even another inch. Already he had done a round of push-ups, sit-ups, leg presses, and had made a feeble attempt at a chin up. The chin up didn’t work; he ended up just hanging from the bar, feeling like a fish strung out to dry. “What is…this madness?”

Gilbert swaggered over and gave Arthur a slap on the thigh, almost causing him to drop the bar on Alfred, who was spotting him. “It’s called fitness, little guy! The ladies love it! Of course, when you look as awesome as I do, the ladies love you anyway…” He trailed off, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror and grinning at his reflection. “Keep it up and you might look something like me someday.”

This was Gilbert’s brand of encouraging compliment, Arthur realized, but he felt neither grateful nor inspired to respond and so stayed silent to focus on making a last push at the bar. “That’s the way to do it! Nice work, dude! Next up is my favorite workout move—the Ab Smasher! Get pumped!” Alfred helped his roommate sit up and then motioned him over to a flat mat near a large mirror in a corner of the room.

“No,” Arthur replied, feeling dizzy at the mere thought of the Ab Smasher. “No. No. I think I’ve done quite enough for the day. You carry on. I’ll be over at the Juice Bar with Feliciano.”

Alfred laughed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. One day you’ll be in here lifting even more weights than me, you just watch! Give yourself a year and see how great you feel!” He winked and headed for the mat himself.

_I don't have a year,_ Arthur thought morosely, making his way past grunting men and women to slide next to the small Italian man at the café’s counter. “Hullo, Feli.”

“Ciao!” Feliciano was as chipper as always, sipping on some bright yellow smoothie. “How fortunate that you three came at the same time as Ludwig and I! It’s nice to have company in the café once in a while!”

“You don’t work out, then?”

Feliciano grinned. “As rarely as possible. Sometimes Ludwig gets on these big fitness kicks and tries to make me exercise, but mostly he realizes what a lost cause it is. I can run pretty fast, you know, but only if I’m scared and running away from something.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep! Ludwig also likes to come here to keep an eye on Gilbert. He won’t tell me in so many words, but I don't think he believes his brother when he says he’s coming here to work out.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows a touch. “You don’t say? What does he think he’s doing here, then?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. Nobody in our apartment is really sure what Gilbert does.” He turned around and waved at his burly boyfriend, who shook his head with disappointment.

“How many of you are there in your apartment? Four, like in ours?”

“ _Si_ , there are four,” Feliciano answered, swiveling back around to face Arthur and counting off on his fingers. “Ludwig, Gilbert, Romano, and me. I had hoped that, since Ludwig and I got along so well, Romano and Gilbert would be friends…but that’s pretty unlikely. Big Brother really hates Gilbert. Then again…Big Brother hates _everyone._ Except Antonio.” Arthur nodded, but the other needed no provocation to continue talking. “Ludwig and Gilbert had a huge fight the other night. It was the first time I’d seen Romano smile in a while—he thought maybe Gilbert would get kicked out of the apartment. I kind of thought he would too, but he didn’t, or hasn’t yet.”

Arthur found his eyes wandering around the room as Feliciano changed the topic and started soliloquizing about his favorite soccer teams. Gilbert was doing bicep curls near a group of giggling ladies on elliptical machines, Ludwig was working furiously at an erg machine, and Alfred was stretching on the same mat he had been on earlier. The American was more lithe than could have been guessed from his appearance and had only the slightest difficulty in touching his toes.

Arthur found himself watching the man’s smooth movements as he transitioned fluidly from one stretch to the next, the light catching here and there on his tanned, sweaty skin. When he twisted to the side like _that_ , a tiny sliver of his midsection appeared beneath his light shirt. When he stretched his arms up to the ceiling like _this_ , his stomach sucked in and his shorts fell a bit lower, exposing the tops of a V-shaped muscle that ran down into…

Suddenly Alfred was walking towards the Juice Bar and Arthur nearly toppled out of his seat in his efforts to appear as if he had been thoroughly engrossed in Feliciano’s musings the whole time. When he looked at the Italian, though, he found that he had long since stopped talking and was staring at the angel with an impish look on his delicate features. Meeting Arthur’s eyes, he gave a conspiratorial wink and took a long sip of his smoothie. In dismay, Arthur opened his mouth to explain that _that wasn’t what it looked like_ but shut it again promptly when Alfred stopped beside his chair. “Phew! I think I’m done with my workout for today. Oh, here comes Gil. Hey, Gil, you wanna play tennis for a little while? I’ve got half an hour to spare.”

Gilbert shrugged, wiping his forehead with a small towel and then slinging it over his shoulder. “Sure.”

“Great. How ‘bout you team up with Arthur?”

“Have you ever played tennis, Artie?”

“It’s not Artie, it’s Arthur.”

“Jones calls you Artie when he talks about you.”

“That’s—he does? Oh, bah, that’s still beside the point. It’s _Arthur_.”

“Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Have you played tennis or not?”

“No.”

Gilbert threw a whiny look at Alfred. “Why do I have to partner with the newbie?”

Alfred shrugged and grinned at Arthur. “I was just trying to be nice, dude, but that’s fine. You can have Feliciano here as a partner. He’s played with us before.”

“What?” Gilbert’s eyes opened wide. “No, I change my mind! I want the newbie!”

“Too bad!”

oOoOo

Arthur wasn’t _quite_ as bad as Feliciano at tennis, but he was plenty inexperienced and, as Feli did, let his partner do most of the work. The four ended up playing longer than they had intended, so Alfred had to dash off to a team meeting and Feliciano ran away to find Ludwig, leaving Gilbert and Arthur to walk home together. Contrary to what Arthur had expected, Gilbert was skilled in the art of companionable silence, so the angel decided that it was up to him to pry if he wanted any information on the strange man. “Feliciano said that his big brother doesn’t like you very much. Is that true?”

Gilbert snorted. “Yeah. But you have to understand something. Romano Vargas is _insane_. He’s as nutty as squirrel shit. I’d be more worried if he _did_ like me.”

“He’s the one who got angry at Ludwig at the party, right? Tried to start a fight?”

“That’s the one. No one likes him except for Feli, Emma, and Antonio. I keep telling Tonio to leave him alone, but he just won’t for whatever dumb reason. He’s kind of soft in the head himself.” Gilbert laughed, grinning as he thought of his friend.

Arthur nodded and fell silent for a bit, then spoke up again. “Feliciano also said that you and Ludwig had a big fight the other day.”

Gilbert growled in the back of his throat. “That kid talks a lot. Yeah, we had a fight. Ludwig can be really un-awesome sometimes. You’d think that, being my little brother and all, he would be almost as great as me, but he’s way too uptight.”

“What was the fight about? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” Arthur added hastily.

“He doesn’t understand how I make money. He thinks I deal drugs or something. As if I would do that!”

“How _do_ you make money?”

Gilbert laughed shortly and looked away. “Oh, you know. Just…here and there.”

Arthur sensed the discomfort in his voice, but dug further. “Like small jobs-for-hire?”

“Something like that.”

“Why didn't you just tell him that?”

“He doesn’t believe me,” Gilbert explained, becoming a bit exasperated. “He thinks I’m lying when I tell him that my work is completely legal.”

“Can’t you show him your references? I mean…show him the contracts you signed when you were hired for the small jobs? That would get him to lay off.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t! My work isn’t…I don’t want to…it’s not your business, anyway! Everyone needs to back off! What I do is awesome!” At this, Gilbert shut down and refused to say any more on the subject. After a minute or two, he loosened up, changed the subject, and acted like the first conversation had never happened.

oOoOo

“Dude, that’s so suspicious,” Alfred said that night at dinner, forking what seemed to be half a steak into his mouth. “You should really find out what he does.”

Matt nodded his agreement. “I wonder why he’s so secretive about it? What is he, a stripper?”

“I hope not. I’d ruther not find that out,” Arthur remarked. “Even if I did find out…I don’t see how that would change his life for the better. I’m not here to spy on people; I’m here to help them.”

His companions were silent. Kiku finally posed a question. “Did you not say that he and his brother were fighting over the secrecy?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Perhaps if you found out what it is that he does, you could find a way to settle their dispute so they could live in harmony again.”

Arthur chewed a mouthful of beans and thought it over. Kiku might be right. It was a step towards _something_ , anyway, which was better than no step at all. “Alright. I’ll accept that idea. How do you propose I go about discovering his secret, though?”

“Dude!” Alfred slapped the table. “You can go all James Bond on him! Go rappel from the roof into his bedroom window and look through his stuff! This is so cool!”

“No, you can’t go into someone’s house without their permission,” Matt reminded the group. “But…I think the lease is technically under Ludwig’s name. So _technically_ he could give you permission to look through his room.”

 “Pooh, that’s boring,” Alfred sighed, blowing up at his bangs, which fluttered. “Artie’s way cooler than that.”

“I’m afraid I’m not,” Arthur replied, though he warmed at the compliment. “How about this? What if you kept Gilbert extra-long at the gym on Thursday and I finagled a visit to his room while he was gone?”

Alfred grinned. “Yeah! Now we’re both spies. That’s so cool. We should make up code names and communicate using them. I’ll be The Hero.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you like…”

Kiku, who had been looking uncharacteristically nervous for a little while, waited until the talk had died down and then shyly glanced at the newly dubbed Hero. “Alfred…I was wondering…could I go with you to the gym on Thursday?”

“What?” Alfred was shocked. Kiku was the last person he had expected to show interest in exercise. “I mean, sure! Why?”

“Oh…I just…it seems like something you’re interested in and I thought…I thought it would be nice to…go together. If it’s inconvenient for you, I completely understand.” The Japanese man stared down at his plate, strangely ill at ease.

“No! No, that’d be great!” Alfred leaned across the table to give Kiku a high-five, which he returned awkwardly but happily. “Matt, you wanna come too?”

Matt declined firmly. “Not a chance.”

Arthur stayed quiet. Something felt odd.

oOoOo

That Thursday, Arthur watched out the window as Alfred, Gilbert, and Kiku jogged away towards the gym, Kiku lagging slightly behind. Once they were out of sight, he slipped on his shoes and left the apartment. He walked down the hall until he reached the door with the strange red stain spreading out under the door. What was that stain? Who were these people? Trying not to look at the discoloration, he knocked on the door. After a moment, the door opened and Romano looked out, a frown on his face. “What do you want?” He demanded.

 “I, er, I need to see Ludwig. Is he in?”

“Unfortunately.” Romano left the door open and started walking back towards he and Feliciano’s bedroom. “Hey, potato bastard, that new weirdo from down the hall is at the door and wants to talk to you.” He turned into his room and disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

Ludwig came out of the kitchen, a cleaning rag in one hand and a bottle of cleanser in the other. “Good day. Did you need something?” His face was serious, as usual, but if Arthur looked closely, he could see the resemblance between he and his carefree brother.

“I…well, actually, Gilbert borrowed my…my towel the other day and I needed it back. I know he went to the gym this morning and I was just wondering if I could go…go look in his room and get it back.” Arthur, nervous, tripped over his words a bit. To him, the whole story sounded ridiculously fishy.

  Glancing off towards a clock hanging on a wall in the living room, Ludwig hesitated and then nodded. “I’m actually on my way out, as soon as I finish scrubbing the sink. But Romano is here so I won’t have to lock the door. Gilbert’s room is down the hall and to the right. Ask Romano if you need anything.” He gave the visitor a tight smile and went back to the kitchen. On his way, he muttered something about Romano under his breath, but Arthur couldn’t make out many more of the words.

 Blessing his luck, Arthur entered Gilbert’s room and shut the door quietly, trying not to look suspicious. The albino’s bedroom was more or less what he had expected it to be; one of the walls was covered in posters of what seemed to be German rock bands, the floor was littered with men’s magazines about muscle gain and women, empty beer bottles were stacked in a recycling bin in a corner, and there was a collection of photos of Gilbert himself pasted around a mirror on the door. The bed was mussed and unmade, the yellow and black sheets thrown haphazardly about. Beside the desk, a gleaming electric guitar sat shining in a stand. A large amp was beside it and various cords protruded from it like limbs. Arthur tiptoed around the clothes on the floor and made his way to the desk that stood opposite the bed. The desk was messy, like Alfred’s, and there were notebooks piled in heaps on it. A laptop covered in stickers of yellow birds also lay on the desk, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Arthur lifted the cover of one of the notebooks and flipped through it. Each page was covered in words. Some were scratched out and there were heavy markings of repeated erasing. “Marguerite extended her hand and grasped that of the tall, pale, man whose eyes resounded with…” Arthur read aloud. _Is this his diary?_

Nonplussed, he moved to the bookshelf and examined its contents. Gilbert seemed to be an avid reader and a particular fan of one author, as he had collected seemingly all of her works on one shelf. Below the books was a shelf of papers and envelopes that looked both official and important. This was what he’d been looking for. Arthur dropped to his knees and rifled through the papers. Skimming the contents of them…they seemed to be…fan letters. The letters were mostly signed by girls, all of who wrote lovely, adoring words. _No wonder his ego’s so big,_ Arthur thought, putting the papers down with a roll of his eyes. He turned to the envelopes next. These were addressed to “Gilbert ‘Maria Belle’ Beilschmidt.”

Naturally, this struck Arthur as very questionable and he picked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands. It was already open. Surely a peek wouldn’t hurt. He slipped his fingers under the envelope flap, pulled it up, and tugged a piece of folded paper from the envelope. He unfolded it and started reading.

_Dear Gilbert ‘Maria Belle’ Beilschmidt,_

_Thank you for your latest installment in the Hamburg High School series. Enclosed is your initial cheque for the rights to the latest book. More cheques will be sent as you earn royalties from the book. Please notify…_

Arthur didn’t read anymore. He raised his head slowly and narrowed his eyes. _Maria_ …where had he seen that name? He looked around the room, wondering from where he recognized the name. He raised himself to his feet, still clutching the letter and envelope. As he started to look, he became aware of a racket coming from outside the door. “CODE RED! CODE RED!” A voice yelled, becoming louder as it approached.

“Shut up, what are you doing?” Another voice said back, frustrated. “You’ve been yelling that ever since you got into the building.”

 Arthur froze, his heart sputtering. Those voices belonged to Alfred and Gilbert. What were they doing back so soon? It had barely been fifteen minutes! Closer and closer came the voices. Arthur just barely had time to dive beneath the bed with the envelope before the door swung open and Gilbert swaggered into the room. “I’ll just grab my headphones and we can be on our way,” he explained.

Seeing that the room was empty, Alfred stopped his code red droning and sighed with relief. “Sorry, man.”

Gilbert located his headphones and turned back to Alfred. “What was that about, anyway?”

“I, uh, I was just _really_ in the mood for some soda pop.”

“Soda?”

“Yeah, some Mountain Dew Code Red. Do you have any?”

Gilbert snorted. “No. We’re about to work out, anyway. I swear you have the weirdest eating habits.”

The pair walked away, chatting lightheartedly about Alfred’s eating eccentricities. Arthur breathed freely once again but waited a few minutes before squirming out from under Gilbert’s bed. He re-closed the door and went back to the bookshelf to put away the letter so he could leave without arousing suspicion. He had just laid it back down on top of the stack when the books on the shelf above caught his eye again. The multicolored titles called to him and he pulled one out. _Dance Queen Trouble_ was the title, but that wasn’t what stopped Arthur in his tracks. _Dance Queen Trouble by Maria Belle Schmidt._ Taking in a breath, the angel stooped down and picked up the envelope again.

_Thanks, Gilbert ‘Maria Belle’ Beilschmidt…_

He looked back at the book.

_Maria Belle Schmidt._

Was this Gilbert’s secret? Did…did Gilbert _write_ these books? Arthur flipped through the book and discovered that the heroine was named ‘Marguerite,’ just like in those notebooks on the desk. _By Jove,_ Arthur thought, putting the book back hurriedly, _Gilbert’s a teenaged romance novel author._

No wonder he was hiding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I'd read the heck out of any book series Gilbert wrote.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Maria Has Her Day

After much deliberation, Arthur decided that telling Alfred anything about Gilbert’s hobby would be detrimental to not only his mission, but Gilbert’s ego as well. He told Kiku and Matt discreetly and, though surprised, they handled the news with grace. Arthur was sure, however, and the other two agreed with him, that this news would be far too juicy for Alfred to keep to himself. Consequently, when the American pressed Arthur for information on what he had found, he deflected the question and changed the subject. Eventually, Alfred caught on to what was happening and began to pout. “I can keep a secret! I don’t know why you think I can’t keep a secret! Come on, man!” He was even more upset when he found out that Kiku and Matt already knew. Finally, the angel exasperatedly promised that he would tell him soon, and the other man mostly dropped the topic.

Kiku had gone twice now to the gym, and he came back each time red-faced, exhausted, and sore. While rubbing pain relieving gel into the Asian man’s shoulder, Arthur laughed. “You must really want to become fit, hey?”

“Not really,” Kiku replied, wincing when Arthur hit a sore spot.

“Oh?” Arthur asked, pausing in his ministrations. “Are you worried about your health or your weight? You’re quite slender.”

Kiku shrugged. “No, not particularly.”

“Do you just like it?”

“Not at all. It’s miserable.”

“Oh,” Arthur replied, nonplussed. “May I ask why you’re going to gym, then?”

Kiku became distant and stared at some point far away on the wall, though his face was as composed as usual. “I have reasons.” He said nothing further and Arthur, despite prickling curiosity, did not pursue the issue.

oOoOo

Few people on floor nine were shocked when news came that Ludwig was evicting his older brother from the apartment for being a jobless degenerate. Romano was thrilled when the official announcement came through and could be seen skulking down the halls with a smile on his face, munching cheerfully on a tomato and whistling. The argument that ensued between the brothers could be heard throughout the hall and prompted more than one noise complaint from the nearest lower and upper floor. “I AM NOT A DEGENERATE! I HAVE A JOB AND IT’S AWESOME!” Gilbert yelled, his irate and panicked voice echoing.

Ludwig’s usually even, patient tone was strained. “I told you last month that I wanted to see proof that you were working. You failed to deliver. As I specified then, you now have a week to gather your things and find alternate housing!”

“I’ve given you plenty of proof!”

“Like what?” Ludwig was clearly exasperated.

Gilbert sounded astounded that he was even being questioned. “Have I not been paying my share of the rent?”

“Well, yes.”

“Have I been borrowing money from you?”

“No…”

“Have I been buying my share of the groceries?”

Ludwig was silent for a bit, then answered. “Yes.”

“Well?” Gilbert’s voice was still raised. “What’s the problem?”

There was a sigh. “You seem to have plenty of money. The problem, _bruder_ , is that I wonder about where this money is…coming from.” The words were rushed in a way that suggested that the speaker had been itching to say them for some time.

Gilbert’s voice was not as surprised or wounded as he would have liked to appear. “Coming from?”

“Yes. You never leave your room except to buy beer, or go to the gym, or follow Elizabeta around. You can’t have a job like that. There are always strange packages coming in the mail for you, too. It’s suspicious. Look,” Ludwig’s voice lowered. “I know you said you gave that life up after college, but I think you’d understand that I’m having a hard time believing you’ve stayed clean this long.”

Now the elder brother was outraged. “What are you suggesting? I HAVE stayed clean. Those packages aren’t…they aren’t what you think they are!”

“Then what are they?”

“That's my business! And I do NOT follow Elizabeta around! She follows ME around!”

“I… _that’s_ what you took from this conversation? What is wrong with you?”

And so on and so forth. Because Gilbert staunchly refused to give any information as to the origins of his income, Ludwig stood by his original decision to ask him to vacate the premises in a week. As the residents whispered about the whole situation, they all agreed that they wouldn’t like living with a potential drug dealer either, because it would simply be too dangerous. There were rumors spreading that Ludwig had purchased some shiny ring for his Italian boyfriend and was plucking up the courage to finally do something with it after nearly five years of dating. Anyone would want to protect their future spouse, right? It really was only natural that Ludwig would evict his wild card big brother.

Arthur, who knew the truth about Gilbert’s occupation, bided his time with some unhappiness. Gilbert was a rather foolish fellow, but he was honest deep down inside and didn’t deserve the vinegar seeping through the hall. Almost as if he sensed the oasis of mercy so close nearby, the disgraced albino turned up at 114 H late that evening, pouting and looking to trade craftsman beer for sympathy. Matt ushered him in and let him collapse, full of self-pity, at the kitchen table. He moaned, his head in his hands and his white hair peeking out between his fingers. Kiku approached with caution, but Alfred slapped him on the back in a brotherly sort of way. “Cheer up, dude. There are a lot of apartments in town that are way better than this one!”

“That’s not the point,” Gilbert replied, taking his head out of his hands to rest it on the table. “The point is that my _little brother_ kicked me out of the apartment. I am WAY too awesome for that to happen! It’s insulting!”

Arthur sat himself at the table, across from the guest. “Why don’t you just tell him how you earn your money?”

“How did you know that was why he kicked me out?”

Alfred laughed. “Everyone on the hall heard that one, man. It was better than reality TV!”

Gilbert looked chagrined. Arthur glared at Alfred for his lack of tact then reiterated his question. The man considered for a minute, then shook his head. “No way. That’s my business. My awesome business.”

“Is your privacy worth losing your home over?” Kiku asked, taking his usual seat at the table and wrapping his hands around a cup of hot green tea.

Gilbert opened and closed his mouth a few times, but finally nodded. “Yeah. It is.” Having said that, he seemed to sink into his chair a little, now realizing the weight of his words.

Alfred looked mildly alarmed and shot a glance towards Arthur, burning curiosity in his eyes about exactly _what_ his friend could be hiding that was this important. Kiku, as always, was as placid as could be. _What a stubborn lump,_ Arthur thought, feeling a mixture of pity and frustration towards Gilbert. _There’s nothing to be done about it. I’ll have to spill the secret myself if he’s going to keep his living arrangements._ He sighed internally. Why weren’t people smart?

Later that night, Arthur borrowed Alfred’s laptop and opened a new tab on the internet. While waiting for the search engine to load, he glanced up at his roommate’s internet shortcuts. To his surprise, most of them were diet websites, with a few online comics and social media sites mixed in. Why was Alfred trying to diet? Sure, he ate like a compulsive wildebeest, but his football workouts seemed grueling. Maybe he had been packing on the pounds lately. Arthur shrugged and turned his attention to the search engine. He paused for a moment, then typed “Maria Belle Schmidt” into the search bar and hit enter. Results immediately popped up, most being reviews of Gilbert’s books by various professional and unprofessional critics. What did these people know about “Maria Belle?” Biography pages were few and far between, and all referred to the rising author as “she.” Gilbert’s secret was certainly safe. Arthur delved page after page, looking for anything that would help him.

Just as he was ready to give up, he came up with an idea. He clicked on the search bar and typed in “Maria Belle Schmidt Britannia,” then hit enter. Most of the results were unrelated to his quest, but one stood out. He clicked on it. The East Britannia Library website appeared, on which was a list of different fan clubs and groups the library sponsored. There it was, between the Paranormal Romance Fan Club and the Harry Potter Fan Club: the Maria Belle Schmidt Fan Club. Arthur clicked the link eagerly. The Maria Belle Schmidt Fan Club met every Saturday at noon in the Media Room on the second floor of the library. All were welcome to attend meetings, the information paragraph said. Arthur copied the details down on a small piece of paper, then cleared Alfred’s history so the nosy American couldn't see what he’d been researching.

That Saturday, at noon on the dot, Arthur climbed the stairs to the second floor of the East Britannia Library, rechecking his note to make sure he was headed in the right direction. The second story was home to the library’s historical fiction section, encyclopedias, and self-help section. Between the bookshelves, you could see doors that led into meeting spaces. It was in one of these spaces that Arthur would find what he was looking for. After passing through stacks of books such as _Your Divorce and You_ , _Post-Partum Blues_ , and _Living with the Phantom Limb_ , he finally found it—room 223. Taking a deep breath, he swung open the door and stepped within.

Six pairs of eyes swung to stare at him, five belonging to females who looked to be between the ages of twelve and sixteen, and one belonging to a gangly male around the age of fifteen. Despite the fact that the books were aimed toward a teen audience, Arthur hadn’t actually thought the club would consist of _children_. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. One of the girls, who sported frizzy copper hair, adjusted her bejeweled glasses. “Can we help you?” She asked, looking at him suspiciously.

“I just…is this the Maria Belle Schmidt fan club?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking even more disturbed now that she had ascertained that he hadn’t stumbled in on accident.

“Excellent.” The angel clapped his hands together once and then sat himself in an empty seat in the midst of the group. “Where were we?”

The girl to the right of the redhead had followed Arthur’s movements with her eyes and narrowed her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” She had long brown hair, light brown eyes, and a mouth that curved in a distinct pout.

“I’m joining the meeting. The website said that all were welcome to the group, right?”

“You’re like…thirty.”

Arthur scowled. “I most certainly am not. I’m…23. I think.”

A girl with espresso skin and bangles in her hair made a noise of disapproval. “You think?”

“Yes.”

The boy jumped out of his seat and rushed forward to shake Arthur’s hand. “Welcome! I’m Jaren. I’m glad you’ve come to join the fan club.” He looked thrilled to see another male, no matter the circumstances or age. “This is Tracy. She’s the club President.” He gestured to the redhead from before. “That’s Shanthi, that’s Mercy, that’s Lina, and this is Haeri,” he said, pointing at all of the members in turn. “What’s your name?”

“I’m…uh…I’m Edmund,” Arthur answered, realizing that he couldn’t very well tell them his real name lest his plan backfire. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Alright, settle down,” Tracy ordered, waving her hand patronizingly. “Edmund, our book this month is _The Schnitzel Vandal_. As our guest, you may talk first today.”

Arthur blanched. He hadn’t read any of the books. He didn’t know what they were about. What had he been thinking, to try and infiltrate a fan club meeting without actually reading the material that the fan club was about? “I…uh…I thought this book was…was great. I really enjoyed the…er, the pacing. I also thought the plot was well-developed and the characters were believable.” There. That was vague but reasonable.

The girl named Haeri grinned. “Great, who is your favorite character? Mine is Gretl. Like…I love Brigit, but Gretl is just so funny. And she’s dating Berthold. Berthold is a total hunk, right?”

Arthur could feel his right eye start to twitch. “Right,” he agreed. “I, er, I like Brigit. I think she has a lot of…spunk.”

“And when she fell in that mud puddle…that was so funny. Remember that?”

“Right,” Arthur laughed nervously. “She complained about that for a long time.”

Mercy made a face. “Complained?”

“Yes, you know…she was upset that she got her clothes dirty. That would upset anyone, right?”

Everyone looked blank now. “Clothes?”

“Her…eh…her…skirt. And…shoes.”

Tracy scowled. “Edmund. Brigit is the dog.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve never read this book, have you?”

“I…well…not really, no.”

“You’ve never read any of Maria Belle Schmidt’s books, have you?”

“No.”

Shanthi groaned. “A poser. Lame.”

“And WHY are you here?” The blonde of the group, Lina, demanded, revealing shiny braces with purple and green bands.

Arthur sighed. He was done. “I just…the author’s my friend and I wanted to see what his fan club was like, that’s all.”

The atmosphere in the room changed in an instant. “Ohmigod, you’re friends with Maria? What’s she like? What does she look like?” He was peppered with questions from all sides. “How old is she? Where did she go to university? Does she live around here?”

“Hold on, I can’t hear all of you,” Arthur protested, effectively reducing the buzz in the room to a murmur. He screwed up his face, thinking about Gilbert. “Maria is…very active. He’s young…I think he attended undergraduate in Germany. He looks like…er…pale. He’s quite pale. Doesn’t get out in the sun much.”

“Why are you calling her ‘he?’”

Arthur feigned shock. “Oops! That was supposed to be a secret!”

All the club members sat forward in their seats. “A secret? Wait…is Maria Belle Schmidt a _boy_?” There was much hubbub of disbelief. “No way!”

Still grimacing, Arthur made a motion as if to lock his mouth. “I can’t say. But I’ll tell you what. If you promise not to tell him (or her) that I told you, I’ll give you his (or her!) address. He (or she!) _loves_ visitors.” He waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to look sincere.

For a second, it looked like they were going to decline and Arthur’s stomach dropped. Great. Now what was he going to do? Then they sprang up and hugged each other, squealing. “You mean it? We can actually meet her? Or him? This is the best day of my life!” They converged on Arthur, wrapping him in tight embraces. He grumped at them but they ignored him and continued with their celebration.

Finally, managing to extricate himself, he tore out a sheet of paper from one of the girls’ notebooks and scribbled down a few lines. “Here. This is Maria’s apartment. He’s usually home on Sunday afternoons around lunch. You’ll know him when you see him—he’s the pale one. He’s really shy, though.”

The five girls and one teary-eyed boy thanked him again profusely and took turns clutching at the piece of paper as if it contained their very souls. Bemused, Arthur left the room, shaking his head. How _Gilbert_ got this popular was a mystery. He really must know how to speak to the hearts of teenaged girls. Never judge a book by its cover. Or an author by his pen name. Or Gilbert by…himself.

oOoOo

The next day, after waking up late, Gilbert sat on the couch, flipping through pages of apartment openings and thinking miserably about how this would be his last Sunday here. It wasn’t fair. He paid his dues to live here. Why should it matter where the money came from? It wasn’t drugs. Ludwig knew it wasn’t drugs. He’d been clean for nearly four years. He was never returning to that life again. He’d changed, even if no one believed it.

In his mind, he turned over the idea of telling his little brother the truth about from where his income came. How would he even phrase that little tidbit? _Hey, bruder, remember those anonymous stories that won the Youth Fiction prizes at our Upper School? I wrote those. Yeah, me. I still write. People actually like what I write. I’ve published some of them. People buy them. What kind of stories do I write? Well, they’re for teenaged girls, see, because I really like describing the feeling of young love._ Gilbert almost vomited just thinking the words. His little brother was the least romantic person imaginable. He would _never_ be caught dead reading teenage romances, much less imagining and writing them. The albino sighed heavily and cracked open a beer can from the case next to the couch. Why did his awesome talent have to lie in writing romance novels? Why couldn’t he do something manly, like fix cars?

Elizabeta would definitely laugh him into last century if she ever heard about his career. Dumb girl. She’d probably run off to that un-awesome musician boyfriend of hers and giggle about silly Gilbert who writes about love but can’t find any himself. Worse yet, she might think he was some kind of pervert for writing about teenagers. What a crock of crap. He swigged his beer, becoming steadily more depressed as his mind churned. What was life but a series of lame disappointments? Where was the exciting adventure he’d imagined himself having when he was a young boy in Germany, sitting and staring at the mountains? Why did Ludwig’s love have to work out so perfectly when his own love was so…

“Gott!” Gilbert exclaimed, hitting himself on the forehead. He couldn’t be jealous of his beloved little brother. He couldn’t. Feeling utterly abandoned by luck and the world, he sank back into the couch and flicked on some mindless television, hoping to chase the gloom from his brain. Part of the way through an episode of _Cheating Exposed_ , Ludwig and Feliciano returned home from church. Gilbert raised a hand in greeting, but said nothing. The happy couple changed out of their nice clothing and began to prepare lunch. That rat Romano was still in his room, though what he was doing was anyone’s guess. Just as the episode was closing (he couldn’t believe anyone would cheat on that girl; she was smoking hot!), the apartment doorbell rang.

“Bruder, could you get that?” Ludwig called from the kitchen. Above the noise of the television, Gilbert could faintly hear Feliciano crying. “Please? I dropped pasta all over the floor and I’m cleaning it up right now.” Yep, that would explain the tears. Sometimes Gilbert wanted to beat Feliciano up. He was so…soft. He was delicate. He was emotional. Gilbert did not understand these things. Whenever he thought about a relationship, he always imagined being in love with someone who was…spunky…and tough. Independent. Sarcastic. Nothing like little Feli, though the Italian suited Ludwig perfectly.

Heaving himself up from the couch, Gilbert called an affirmative back towards the kitchen before lazily swinging open the front door to the apartment. “Yeah, what…” He stopped. There were six adolescents outside his door, wearing matching hand-decorated shirts that read _Maria Belle Schmidt Fan Club_. Everything inside him went cold. How…how did they find him? Did they know who he was? Hadn’t he covered his every move? “Eh. Hi. Can I…help you?”

The teens were looking at him with such faces of adoration that he was embarrassed. “M-Maria? Are you ‘Maria Belle Schmidt?’”

They knew.

Somehow they knew. “Eh heh heh…of course not. Who are you talking about?” The best plan of action would be to slam the door in their faces, but for whatever reason, he found himself unable to do so.

“It’s got to be him. Look at how pale he is,” One of the girls, a tall redhead, said to the others. “And he’s shy, just like our informant said.” She turned to Gilbert. “I'm Tracy. I’m President of the Maria Belle Schmidt Fan Club. I am _honored_ to meet you, Mr. Schmidt.”

Another one of the girls slid forward. “I’m Lina. I can’t believe I’m meeting you. This is my dream come true! I was wondering…is Reinhold really in love with Lisette? I have to know. It’s been a year since your last book came out and I just can’t wait any longer to find out.” She tucked a strand of gold hair behind her ear and smiled shyly up at him.

This was bad. Gilbert had to go into risk management mode. He leaned down and motioned the kids closer. “Listen, kiddos, I didn’t write those books. I mean, _I_ wrote them, but it wasn’t _me_. Maria Belle wrote them and, right now, I am _not_ Maria Belle. I’m Gilbert Beilschmidt. Totally different. You dig?”

“So…you did write them.”

“No, Maria wrote them.”

“But Maria is you.  
“No, _I_ am Gilbert at this very moment.”

“But there are moments when Gilbert is Maria.”

“I…yes.” Gilbert sighed and gave in. “Sure. But _not_ right now. So you gotta go.”

The group cheered. “So you ARE Maria Belle Schmidt!” They crowded closer and tried to press their books into his hands “Could you sign this for me? Why do you pretend to be a girl? Are you really from Germany? What’s it like there? Is Hamburg High based on a real place?”

From behind his back, the newly-celebrated author heard footsteps. “Bruder? Who’s at the door?” It was Ludwig.

Gilbert laughed nervously. “Uh, no one, West. Just some people who are lost, that’s all!”

“Lost? Do they need directions?”

“No! I can give them directions!”

The only male of the fan group peered around Gilbert’s torso. “Is that your brother? Why do you call him ‘West?’ Is that his name or is it a nickname?”

Ludwig’s voice sounded upset now. “Are those children at the door?”

“No!” Gilbert yelled back. He turned back to the teens and made a face. “You guys have to go away,” he whispered, “Or my brother will find out about me.”

“Doesn’t he know that you write books?”

Before Gilbert could answer, Ludwig came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and staring confusedly at the door. “Hello. If you’re lost, I can tell you where to go. What apartment are you trying to find?”

Tracy reached out and shook Ludwig’s hand vigorously. “It’s a pleasure to meet Maria’s and Gilbert’s brother. I’m Tracy.”

Ludwig looked at Gilbert for explanation. Gilbert, who was sweating profusely, chuckled manically. “Hah! Hah! These kids! They’ve been saying crazy things!” He put his hand to the side of his mouth to shield his words from the guests. “I think they’re drunk. Teenagers, you know…”

“Do you know Gilbert?” Ludwig asked the club members, ignoring his big brother.

“Only his writing. We just met him face-to-face today. We’re his fan club, you see, and we just wanted to meet him and tell him how much we love his books!”

Ludwig’s face wrinkled with even deeper confusion. “His books?”

An Indian girl, Shanthi, held her book out for Ludwig to see. “Yeah, the _Hamburg High_ series. It’s the best. It’s, like, totally the next _Twilight_.”

The burly German took the book and looked at the cover. “Gilbert wrote this?”

“Yeah! We just found out that ‘Maria Belle Schmidt’ is his pen name! I would NEVER have believed that a man wrote this! He just…he just understand girls so well!” Lina sighed romantically.

Gilbert watched Ludwig study the cover of the book and put two and two together. Maria Belle Schmidt. Belle Schmidt. BelleSchmidt. Beilschmidt. Maria was the name of their mother. Now that he thought back on it, it wasn’t the most advantageous pen name to choose if he wanted to hide. He kicked himself in his mind. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Awesome. But stupid!_ Ludwig turned to his brother and pointed to the book. “Did you write this?”

The jig was up. There was nothing to be done for it. “Well. Yeah. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean…no, yeah, I, uh…I wrote it.” He could feel the heat rising in his face, staining it scarlet. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. Here comes the laughter.

Ludwig grunted. “Feliciano loves this series.” Gilbert looked up, suspicious. “I’ve read a few. They’re well written.” He handed the book back to the girl and glowered at his brother. “Is this where your money has been coming from?”

“Well…yeah. It’s pretty lucrative, I guess.” Gilbert couldn’t believe he was talking to his big brother about this. Feliciano read his series? He’d had no idea.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were still writing? One of my lab coordinators’ wife is the CEO of an international publishing company. I could have given this to her and you could be selling it in the global market.”

Gilbert’s mouth gaped. “I…what?”

“You heard me.” Ludwig studied his brother’s face. Gilbert was a fantastic sibling; he’d taken care of Ludwig since they were both young and had never let him want for anything. He had a strangely strong sense of honor that came hand-in-hand with a perpetually enormous ego and easily wounded pride. To his brother’s annoyance, the albino usually lorded his achievements and accomplishments over everyone’s heads until they were driven nearly to madness. For him to hide something like this was fishy. The man in question shrugged uncomfortably and mumbled something about privacy. His eyes darted from the book in Tracy’s hand to Ludwig’s face and back to the floor. “Are you embarrassed of your work?”

“What?” Gilbert gasped dramatically, overly dramatically, in fact. “I am not! My books, like myself, are awesome! I just…a man needs his own space!”

“Will you give me your manuscripts? I’ll send them to my connection in the publishing business. You can use your penname if you’re ashamed.”

“I am not ashamed!”

“Stop being defensive! I'm just trying to help you!”

“I don’t need help!”

As the new fight broke out, the six members of the Maria Belle Schmidt Fan Club(which would soon after be renamed the Gilbert Beilschmidt Fan Club) eventually slipped away, clutching Gilbert’s precious signatures that they had obtained along the way and reflecting to themselves that the truth of their idol was surely far more strange than his fictional persona.

Ludwig immediately reneged his eviction order on his brother, which thrilled Feliciano and completely infuriated Romano. News of Gilbert’s rising fame as an author spread around the city and journalists from various cities started appearing at his door, looking for pictures and interviews. Just as he had offered, the younger Beilschmidt brother sent Gilbert’s writing to a woman who brought it to the attention of one of the largest trans-national translation and publishing companies in existence. The former ‘Maria Belle’ couldn’t believe what was happening. Finally, after so many years of going the wrong direction, he’d done something right. Or, at least, those kids had done something right by showing up at his house. Where had they gotten his address? He never found out.

A week or so after the initial media craze, Elizabeta stopped by Gilbert’s apartment, a basket of sausages in her arms and a tall man by her side. She was on her way back from a supermarket trip during which she had seen a display of fresh German sausages, immediately thought of her friend, and purchased them. The albino himself answered the door and pinked up at the sight of her, then paled again when he noticed the man, Elizabeta’s boyfriend, whose name was Roderich. “ _Ja_ , Lizzie,” he greeted her, completely ignoring her companion. “What do you… _mein gott_ are those Strasburg wursts?”

“Yep. I found ‘em at the market today as I was doing my shopping. I thought of you and your new _fame_ and just thought I’d drop them by as a sort of congratulations.” She surrendered the food with a smile and he received them with equal pleasure.

“Geez. Thanks. That’s nice of you. You’re usually such a sourpuss I’m surprised!” Gilbert opened one of the sausages that was already cooked and munched into it. “This is great! Thanks again!”

Elizabeta’s smile had turned into an annoyed half-grimace. “Gilbert Beilschmidt; always the charmer. Sourpuss, huh? Next time I’ll bring you pickles.”

“Great, I love pickles.”

“You’re hopeless!” Rolling her eyes, Elizabeta pushed Gilbert back into his own apartment and closed the door behind him. “Come on, Rod,” she said, grabbing her Austrian boyfriend by the hand and dragging him down the hallway.

oOoOo

The same night that Ludwig sent his brother’s fiction out to the publishing office, Arthur was awoken early in the night by a sudden flash of light from the little white chest on his nightstand. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he fumbled around in the dark until he grasped the box and brought it to his face. He pressed his thumbs against the side and the top sprang open as before. The three tiers slid out and gleamed in Arthur’s angelic glow. With a start, he noticed that more crystals had appeared; he now had two medium silver crystals in the Major change tier and one small gold crystal in the Minor tier. He studied the smaller gold crystal with curiosity as he hadn’t realized that he had done anything worthy of being awarded a Minor change. It revolved slowly over the hollow in the tier, twinkling. Upon closer examination, he could see tiny letters etched into the side of the crystal, but it was difficult to read because of the motion. After multiple rotations, he finally made out the words: _Im-Young Soo_. Im Young…wasn’t that the Korean boy across the hall? Was this crystal from him?

He looked at the medium tier and saw that there were words etched on the silver crystals as well. One read _Wang Yao_ and the other _Gilbert Beilschmidt_. So it was true, the crystals bore the name of the person in whose life he had caused a change. How had he caused a change, minor or otherwise, in Im-Young’s life without trying? He looked across the room and saw Alfred sitting up in bed, having been woken up by the light. “Oi, Alfred, has anything happened recently with Im-Young Soo? You know, that Korean kid that keeps trying to drink Kiku’s ceremonial sake?”

Alfred yawned. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“Has anything…changed in his life recently?”

Alfred scratched his head and considered, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, he was saying the other day that Yao had promised to hire him when his restaurant was finished. Apparently Im-Young is in a lot of student debt.” He yawned again. “I don’t think I’d want him working in _my_ restaurant, though.” Arthur nodded in reply. Im-Young was rather irresponsible, it was true. “Hey, by the way, I just wanted to say good job. You know…about the whole Gilbert thing. He’s really happy.”

Arthur closed the box and placed it carefully back on his nightstand. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s like…a different dude. You did good. I was impressed.”

“…thanks,” Arthur said, feeling uncomfortably pleased with the praise. “I was worried. I didn't think it would go as well as it did.”

In the darkness, Alfred laid back down and moved around to find a comfortable spot. “Knowing you, I figured it would work out. You’re pretty good at what you do.”

Arthur was thankful for the darkness as he could feel his face flushing deeply. “Th-thanks.”

“Of course, I totally helped you. That makes me _partially_ the hero, right? Do I get something for helping?”

He continued to babble in the darkness and Arthur’s flush receded quickly. “Oh, shut up,” he replied with no real spite in his voice, rising from his bed with the intent to use the toilet. He left the room, Alfred still chattering behind him. After using the facilities, he went to the kitchen for a drink of water. On the way, he noticed that Kiku was still awake and sitting on the couch, perusing something on his computer. After obtaining his drink, he meandered past the quiet Japanese man again and glanced over his shoulder in curiosity. Kiku was looking pictures on a social networking website, pictures that seemed to be of when the three original occupants of the apartment first moved in together. The photos showed a progression of friendship, from first awkward meetings to times when they all went to the cinema together, or cooked food together, or had game nights.

Arthur was about to move on when Kiku, unaware of the angel’s presence behind him because he was wearing headphones, stopped flipping through the pictures to stare at one. It was a photo of Kiku himself and Alfred, arm in arm at what appeared to be some sort of Japanese festival. Both were dressed in traditional _yukata_ and had masks slung to the side of their heads. Alfred had bitten into a rice ball and was half-grinning, half-chewing. Kiku held the plate from which the rice ball had come and was just looking at his companion with a small, meaningful smile. The smile suggested that there was no one else in the world and nothing at which he would rather look than at this American chowing down on _onigiri_. The arm not holding the plate was resting lightly on Alfred’s sleeve, a small gesture that spoke novels.

As Kiku stared at the photo, Arthur realized that he was looking in on something private, something that wasn’t meant to be viewed by the world. He guiltily tiptoed away, casting a glance back to see if he had been noticed. He hadn’t, but the uneasy feeling stayed with him. That photo…those smiles…things began to click into place. Why had Kiku been going to the gym when he hated it? Why was he so cold when Arthur was first introduced to him? Why did he wash Alfred’s abandoned dishes without complaint? Why did he fret over every little football injury Alfred brought home?

The picture explained it all. Kiku had feelings for Alfred, though how deep Arthur could not tell. When Kiku looked at Alfred, he felt stirrings deep in his tummy. Arthur rubbed his own stomach. Something about this realization made him feel…unsettled. How did Alfred feel about Kiku? Was it the same? Arthur suddenly felt like he would pop if he didn’t find out. He entered his bedroom and lay down in his bed, his mind still awhirl. _You did good. I was impressed._ Alfred’s words wandered through the mountains of his mind. _You’re pretty good at what you do._ He’d said that to _him,_ Arthur, just minutes ago. He’d grinned his usual toothy grin, the one as wide as the plains of the land he called home.

_I think I’ll find out just how Alfred feels about Kiku,_ Arthur thought, curling in his bed and savoring the warmth. _Just for fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes writing fanfiction feels like shouting into the void xD


	7. The Edelstein Project

“Fourteen…fifteen…” Arthur collapsed back on the gym mat on which he was doing sit-ups, his abs burning fiercely and sweat trickling in meandering streams down his neck. He exhaled heavily then lifted his head to take a surreptitious look toward where Alfred and Kiku were lifting free weights. Kiku’s face was bright red as he did bicep curls, but he wore an intense expression that testified to his determination. Beside him, Alfred did shoulder presses easily, cheering his companion on between sets. Arthur squinted at the football player and tried to analyze what he might be thinking every time his eyes diverted to the smaller man. Was there affection? Was there admiration? Now viewed through a proper lens, Kiku’s feelings were obvious. He would stop his lifting to watch Alfred, a soft and almost hungry look on his face.

Arthur’s eyes lingered on Kiku, then drifted back to Alfred. He was done with his sets now and was drinking a bottle of water and laughing at something Kiku must have said. Was it just him, or was that laughter too bubbly to be genuine? Then again, wasn’t Alfred’s laughter always that way? That’s just who he was. It didn’t mean anything. His good nature was given easily and freely, like fresh air. When he smiled at you, it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. As these thoughts consumed him, Arthur noticed that Alfred had ceased paying attention to Kiku and was now watching the angel stare at him, an amused and wary air in the way his eyebrows were lifted. Arthur snapped back to himself and averted his eyes, flushing with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to stare. It wasn’t like he fancied his stupid smile or anything. What an idea.

Alfred’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer; he could feel it. Then Gilbert, who had emerged from the locker room, slapped the football player on the back and broke the tension. “Broke my own record for the mile run today! There was this hot chick beside me. She totally gave me the eye, man. That’s probably why I ran so fast…” He stretched up, exposing a stretch of white abdomen down which ran a thin line of white hair. “She _obviously_ appreciated an awesome man when she saw one. Unlike some girls.” He scowled, leaning up on his toes as he stretched.

A chuckle issued from Alfred while Kiku’s smile took on a knowing edge. Gilbert reddened and stopped his stretch. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” Alfred replied. “You, uh, having trouble with Elizabeta?”

“No,” Gilbert fired back. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t recognize awesomeness if it was tap-dancing right in front of her, trying to get her attention.” He opened a bottle of water and slurped a quarter of it down, frowning all the while. Alfred turned his head ever so slightly towards Arthur and dropped him a wink as if to say _just keep watching_. The wink disconcerted the angel and so he ignored it. Just as Alfred had expected, Gilbert kept talking, muttering at first and then full-on grousing. “She’s completely oblivious, especially about that limp noodle of a boyfriend of hers.” His voice changed to a girlish falsetto. “ _Oh, Roderich, how I love to watch you play the piano! You’re such a dreamboat!_ Gag me.”

Arthur had never heard that name before. “Roderich? Is that her boyfriend? Does he live on our hall?”

Gilbert snorted. “No, he doesn't live on our hall. He’s too _rich_ and _famous_ to live somewhere as _plebian_ as an _apartment complex_.” Seeing Arthur’s confused face, he shifted his weight and explained. “Roderich is some stupid pianist prodigy who’s sort of popular. He’s played for the Queen before and has a few CDs out in stores. They’re completely terrible; I’ve listened to them. I don’t know why anyone would want to hear that garbage, but apparently they do because he tours around the country giving concerts. Elizabeta practically worships him like some sort of musical god…they’ve been dating for a while now.” He kicked at the ground, scowling. “I don’t get it. The guy’s a scumbag! Anyone can see it! He cheats on her, I know it. He always has one or two bimbo fangirls fawning over him. And you know what? One time she was wearing long sleeves in the dead of summer. It must have been ninety degrees outside and she comes waltzing down the hall in a long-sleeve button-down shirt. It was green. It looked nice on her. It was suspicious. Anyway, she was going to make dinner with Feli, so she rolled up her sleeves just barely, enough that she wouldn’t get flour on them. That’s when I saw them.” His face darkened and his red eyes glinted. “I saw the bruises. Four purple lines on top of her forearm and one on the underside. They were finger marks. Roderich did that. He hits her, I know it.”

“Gilbert…that’s a very serious accusation…you can’t just say things such as that without proof.” Kiku had replaced the weights back on the rack and was standing beside Alfred now, concern written all over his round face.

“I saw the marks!” Gilbert flared. “His scummy attitude is all the proof anyone needs. Elizabeta doesn’t get it. Roderich doesn’t deserve someone like her. Or anyone at all. It’s not like she’s that great, either,” he added hastily. “Whatever. Let’s go. He’ll get what’s coming to him. Or maybe Eliza will marry him and have his stupid musician spawn. I won’t care either way.” With a look that indicated that he was done with the subject, he flung his towel into a nearby hamper and clumped towards the door, his usual swagger replaced with an angry stiffness.

The other three exchanged glances and followed him, keeping their thoughts to themselves. As they crossed the first street, Arthur ruminated over Gilbert’s words and suspicions. Who was the Roderich fellow, really? Was he as bad as he was just painted to be? Were those smears only the ramblings of a jealous man? He panted as he struggled to keep up with the group, his breaths strained. His lungs hadn’t been working quite right lately. When he ran, he could feel them constricting within his chest. Still…if Gilbert was even partially right, then Elizabeta needed to get away from him before she fell any deeper for him, assuming she wasn’t already arse over ears in love. How could he find out? He couldn’t very well just go up and ask the fellow. _Pardon me, chap, but have you been slapping around any ladies recently?_ He’d be likely to get knocked around himself for impertinence. Maybe if he just…observed him for a few days. Angels could be silently stealthy if they wanted, unlike bumbling demons. Humans were usually too preoccupied to notice. That could work.

In this way, Arthur found himself following Elizabeta and Roderich back to the latter’s house the next day, intending to spy on the man for a while. It wasn’t hard to do, because the young musician’s house was open, breezy, and full of windows hung with sheer curtains. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls and lavish rugs lay on the wooden floors. Everything was clean…almost sterile. The obvious centerpiece of the house was a medium-sized drawing room in which sat a beautiful, glossy, well-maintained grand piano. Various stands containing sheets of music were situated around the sitting bench, which was covered with an intricate lace doily. The piano was arranged opposite a wall-length mirror, as in a dance studio, so the player could watch himself play.

On this day, the couple entered the house and Elizabeta went straight to the kitchen, where she took from the cabinets pots and pans in a practiced way, as if she did this often. She drew vegetables out from the amply-stocked refrigerator and immediately started slicing them. Roderich, meanwhile, went to his bedroom, combed his hair, and changed his jacket. Afterwards he seated himself at the piano in the drawing room, stretched his fingers, and began to play. After three-quarters of an hour, Elizabeta brought him out a plate of food, which he examined and then gave back to her. She took it back to the kitchen, disposed of it in the trash, and began anew. _Alfred would have eaten that,_ Arthur thought, clinging to the branch of the tree in which he sat.

oOoOo

Roderich Edelstein, 26 years old, considered himself to be the most up-and-coming musical genius this side of Vivaldi. The reviews his critics wrote claimed that his performances were flawless, his stage manner was intense, and that his compositions were surely sent from the gods. Roderich, of course, believed all of this and more. He was raised the youngest child of a wealthy Austrian family who had shunned television and electronic games in favor of music and literature for entertainment. Consequently, he was well-read and had an expansive vocabulary (in many languages) at his disposal. At the age of four, he had been gifted with a tiny child-sized keyboard, to which he had attached like a duckling to its mother. His parents recognized the natural talent, immediately pounced on it, and began a course of musical grooming that would last their son’s whole life. At the age of eight he played in famous Austrian music halls. At ten he played at Carnegie Hall in America. By twelve he was invited to play at the Sydney Opera House, and at the tender age of fifteen, he was invited to play before Her Majesty, the Queen of England. By now, he was more or less world-famous among classical music fans and toured around various countries, recording albums and giving stage shows.

A professional must have professional surroundings, and so Roderich never settled for anything but the best. He had moved to Britannia a little over a year ago and offered a personal meeting with the fan who bought the lucky ticket number. The whole thing was his manager’s idea, because he thought Roderich needed a “friendlier” image. The pianist himself was completely against the idea and was prepared to deal as little as possible with whatever horror stepped into his backstage dressing room, but the girl who was ushered in the room was far from undesirable. She was a lovely lithe thing with wavy brown hair that fell to the middle of her back and sharp green eyes. Her lips had been reddened with lipstick, but she still licked them nervously as she approached him for a handshake. He had taken her hand and kissed it instead, then looked her straight in the eyes and greeted her in a traditional Austrian way. That was all it had taken. She was smitten and he knew it. Girls were just like that…one little nudge and they fell for you as deeply as you desired.

She was the _perfect_ girlfriend for his professional image; he knew it. She was attractive, but not _too_ attractive. She was saucy, but could be bullied into cooking and cleaning at his whim. She was elegant and looked well in concert finery. She was talkative and willing to talk to people that he didn’t want to associate with. Most of all, she was completely enthralled with him and trusted him implicitly. Sometimes, when he was curled in bed with some star-struck girl he’d met at a concert or an album signing, he felt a vexing twinge of guilt because he’d told Elizabeta some excuse for his whereabouts and she’d believed him. Then the woman would sigh his name in that way that all his conquests did— _oh, Roderich—_ and the guilt would dissolve. Surely she didn’t honestly expect him to be monogamous. A man was only young once, and few had the access to as many desirable women as he. It would be downright _unfair_ for him to bed her and only her and leave all of his other fans bereft. It would be _boring_ , and Roderich was not a boring man.

For her part, Elizabeta Hedervary still couldn’t believe her luck in snagging the most handsome, talented man she’d ever imagined. All through high school and undergraduate she’d listened to classical piano solos as a way to focus her mind so she could study. Dashing young Roderich Edelstein’s compositions had captured her interest as soon as they hit the market and some nights she would abandon her work and just sit, listening to his music and looking up images of him on the internet. His face…those stormy blue eyes staring soulfully up out of creamy skin…that dark, artfully messy hair that had clearly been tousled by his long, slender fingers…after five minutes she would squeal and bury her face in a pillow. He was exquisite.

One day, after a hard afternoon of dealing with professors and older therapy interns, she had trudged by the local performing arts center and absentmindedly looked at the upcoming shows. _Phantom of the Opera…seen that...Bollywood Bonanza…not interested…23 rd Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee? What the hell _is _that?_ Then she saw it. _No…way. Roderich Edelstein LIVE! Here! In Britannia! He’s coming here!_ She immediately rushed into the box office and demanded to see the prices. They were beyond her means, but she scrimped, saved, borrowed, and sold belongings until she had enough to buy that one precious ticket. She hadn’t even known that there was a lucky number that would take her backstage to _see_ him. That was announced during the show. When they called out her number, she jumped in the air and shouted with glee. What god had she pleased in order to get this privilege? And there he was, perfect and beautiful and smelling of cologne. He’d kissed her hand and murmured something in his native language…a girl could die from such bliss.

He’d asked her on a date right then and there and it wasn’t long until they were official. She accompanied him on some of his tours, she watched him practice…she made food for when the torture of his genius was too exhausting. He wasn’t perfect and she knew it. Sometimes he would get too stressed from his work and snap at her. One time he grabbed her arm so hard he’d left bruises. None of it mattered, though. He’d apologized afterwards and she’d forgiven him immediately. There were rumours that he slept with female fans who came backstage after concerts, but Elizabeta didn’t believe a word. Roderich would never betray her in such a way; he just couldn’t. He always told her where he was going to be. Beneath his straitlaced exterior lay the heart of a true romantic...it must be hard to be so wonderful every day…he was a true artist in everything he did. He was mature, settled, dignified—everything she’d ever wanted.

Then there was Gilbert. That frustrating albino had plagued her ever since she’d moved in—she should never have accepted his offer to help her lug in her furniture. He had some unaccountable crush on her and didn't care that she was a taken woman. Gilbert was a cute enough guy. He had a boyish smirk that _occasionally_ sent flutters into her tummy, but he was roguish, immature, flighty--everything she’d _never_ wanted. She’d never been able to make him go away and leave her alone…but then again, she’d never _honestly_ tried. He was an amusing friend and a good person with whom to have a witty banter-filled argument. She’d be sad if he left.

Arthur stayed in the tree until an hour after Elizabeta left that evening. Nothing out of the ordinary transpired in that time, so he slipped away back home. He returned the next day, and the next, but still caught no form of transgression from the Austrian. The most scandalous thing that happened was a steamy petting session between the two lovers. Gilbert gritted his teeth when Arthur told him his empty report, but encouraged him to keep watching. Roderich was rotten, he said, he just _knew_ it.

It was on the fifth night that Arthur’s surveillance paid off. Elizabeta had left the city to visit a family member in a nearby town who had just had a baby. She’d kissed Roderich goodbye that evening and promised to tell her family that he said hello, then boarded a train. Roderich was sorrowful for a moment, then opened his cell phone and dialed a number off the back of what looked to be a receipt. He chatted animatedly for a few minutes, hung up, and strolled back into the house. Two hours later, a young woman walked timidly up the expertly manicured lawn, checked her phone, and rang the doorbell. Roderich answered the door, having changed into a casually-chic outfit with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, scolded her for walking on the grass, then invited her inside. He poured her glass after glass of wine and alternated playing piano and making small talk while she drank them. The woman became bolder as the night deepened and the wine loosened her inhibitions. She slid onto the piano bench with him a third of the way through _Swiss Lillies_ , and had the rest of his shirt unbuttoned before he could finish the piece.

There was no more piano playing that night. Roderich’s guest relieved him of his pants and herself of her dress, and the two moved their amorous activities upstairs to the master bedroom. Arthur nearly fell out of the tree at this point. He knew he shouldn’t be peeping…but this was _anthropology_ , damn it! He stayed long enough to confirm that, yes, Roderich was cheating as enthusiastically as one could cheat, then he melted into the darkness.

“I KNEW IT!” Gilbert yelled when Arthur ran to him that same night, breathless with the news. Ludwig immediately stuck his head in the bedroom and shushed him with a frown, but that didn’t dampen his brother’s fervor. “I KNEW he was a cheater. I…I have to tell Eliza. She has to know. But she’d never believe me. She’d never believe that her _beloved_ would sleep around on her.” He paced the floor, up and down, back and forth. “She’d ask him and he, duh, would deny it. Who wouldn’t? Then she’d just get all pissy at me and that would accomplish abso-freaking-lutely nothing. You saw them do it? Like…right there?”

Arthur cringed at the memory. “Right in front of the window.”

“So he’s used to this. He does this often; he’s not even careful anymore. That’s good. I mean, it sucks for Elizabeta, but it’s good because sooner or later he’s going to slip up. He’s going to slip up and Eliza is going to be there to see it.”

“That could take years,” Arthur pointed out. _I don’t have years. I barely have months._ “What if we, say, caused him to slip up? Facilitated it, in a manner of speaking?”

Gilbert looked at him sharply. “Set the music man up? Now? Elizabeta…it would break her heart.” He sat down heavily on his bed. “I…I really hate that guy. But I don’t know if I could do that to _her_. You know?”

Arthur squirmed. He needed his friend’s help on this one. Gilbert had connections to all the right people, Elizabeta most importantly. “It would hurt her far more deeply if you let the relationship go on longer. She’ll just fall further in love with him.” The other man jerked a little when he said that. “Don’t you think getting out of a bad relationship would be a…positive life change for her?”

The albino rubbed his white hair with his hands, his head hung low. A low sigh hissed from him and faded into nothing. “You’re right. The longer this…this farce of a relationship goes on, the worse it’ll be for her. It’s like ripping a bandage off, right? It hurts but it’s best to do it quickly?” He looked up at Arthur, searching. “It’s the right thing to do, yeah?”

“I think so. I think she’ll agree, in the end.”

“Good.” Gilbert huffed and cemented the idea in his mind. A wicked smile spread across his face. “Let’s give him hell, then, you and me, hey?”

oOoOo

Upon returning to his own room in 914, Arthur shrugged off his boots and coat and collapsed on his bed. Alfred, who was lounging in his bed reading comics, watched him. After a minute, the angel slid down to the floor and stretched out. He lifted one leg, then another, and tried to touch his toes. He couldn’t, and so he dropped his feet back to the floor with a groan. “What’re you doing?” Alfred asked casually, looking at his roommate sprawled across the floor like a squashed spider.

“Stretching. My back and shoulders hurt from sitting in a tree all day.” He didn't mention that he could have sat all week in a tree in Heaven and not been sore after. Stupid Halfway sickness. He sat up and twisted side to side, trying to pop his back into a more comfortable place.

“Don't do it like that, you’re gonna hurt your back more,” Alfred pointed out. Arthur scowled at him but stopped. “Here, let me help.” Putting his comic down, he lowered himself to the floor and crab-walked to where Arthur sat. Arthur stiffened when the American’s hands were laid on him, however gently, and Alfred laughed. “Hey, dum-dum, I’m not gonna hurt you. Chill out.”

“No, I’m fine, I don’t need…” Arthur’s sentence petered out as Alfred set to work. As ridiculous as it was, the back rub felt _fantastic_. This was exactly what his aching back had needed. He complained when Alfred hit a particularly tense or sore spot, but mostly stayed quiet and enjoyed the pampering. “Thanks.”

Alfred chuckled behind him. “No prob, dude. The number of back injuries we see every season in football is astronomical. The sports trainer taught us all the best way to handle a strained back.” He worked in silence for a moment. “You’re pretty tense. Try to chill out.”

Letting out all the air in his lungs, Arthur made a conscious effort to loosen his body and let his stress melt away for the time being. Little by little he felt himself unwind and relax back into Alfred’s ministrations. “You must really enjoy American football, eh? You spend so much time at practice and games.”

“…yeah,” Alfred answered after a bit. “I like it. It’s a rush, you know? There you are on the field, with hundreds of people watching…you know the game and then your team depends on you. It’s pretty great. I was always pretty good at it, I guess.”

Arthur grunted genially in response. Alfred seemed to be working himself into an introspective mood, so he figured it would be best to stay quiet and let him think his way through. The hands kneading his shoulders were strong and warm, and they presently began to work their way down his spine. Suppressing a sigh, the angel leaned forward so as to give his masseuse better access. When he had worked to right under the shoulder blades, Alfred’s hands froze, then gently patted around the upper back area. Arthur was confused for a moment, then understood. “If you’re looking for where wings ought to be, you won’t find anything.”

“Oh,” Alfred replied, embarrassed. “I just thought…I dunno. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Arthur felt Alfred’s hands move back to their original positions. “I guess I’d be curious too, if I were you.”

Kiku and Matt laughed together from the kitchen and Arthur and Alfred paused to listen. When the laughter died away, Alfred spoke again. “So, are you, like, the normal size for an angel?”

Arthur made a face where his roommate couldn’t see him. “I guess I’m about average for a male. Females are a little smaller.” His tone clearly indicated that he found the question strange.

“Oh, it’s just…I dunno, you’re kind of…delicate,” Alfred explained, catching on to Arthur’s confusion. “Not in a bad way. Just, like, your bones are kind of small.”

“They are not!” Arthur protested, feeling his own wrist. It felt as solid as always.

“Yeah, they are. Feel your collar bones.” Alfred slid his hands over the angel’s shoulders and tapped the bone structures there. Arthur felt them, as asked. They felt quite normal. “Now, feel _my_ collar bones. Right here.” Alfred pulled down the collar of his shirt and tapped the skeletal protuberances beneath.

Reaching his hand out, Arthur felt ridiculous. Just an hour ago he’d been sitting in a tree playing peeping tom on Elizabeta’s boyfriend, and now here he was fondling his roommate’s shoulders upon request. Pushing his discomfort aside, he laid his fingers on the skin beneath Alfred’s collar and was surprised at how much larger and more prominent the clavicles were. His fingertips wandered into the hollow behind the bones and then ran into the wall of muscle in back. Slipping lightly over the tanned skin, his hand flitted the opposite way, over the bones again, and down his chest a small ways. He met the smooth, hot skin of the pectoral and then inhaled sharply, pulling his hand away. In the curiosity of the moment, he had forgotten that this was an actual person he was feeling up. Feeling the blood rush into his face, Arthur raised his eyes and found Alfred grinning. “What?” The embarrassed angel demanded tartly.

“See? I told you. Your skeleton is smaller.” Alfred pulled the collar of his t-shirt back up and smiled triumphantly. When his companion didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and motioned for the other to turn around as before. “I’ll finish your back therapy now.” Arthur turned obediently, but stayed quiet. After a minute or two, Alfred began to talk again. “I don't really have a large frame myself. I’m average, which is why I’m a kicker on the team instead of any other positions. If I was bigger, I could be a linebacker. If I was faster, I could be the runningback. My dad was big. He was fast, too. He played a lot of different positions on his team.”

“Oh, your father played American football as well?” This was an interesting factoid.

Alfred chuckled. “Yeah. He was sort of a star. His picture is hanging in the trophy room at the stadium I play in.” His voice thickened with pride. “He was so proud of me when I joined the middle school team. Every day, after practice, he would go out to a field with me and train even more. Anytime we had a game, he’d grill hamburgers for me. I guess that’s why I love them so much.”

Facing away, Arthur smiled to himself. “That’s splendid. Does he still come to watch you play? Could I meet him?”

“He _definitely_ still watches me play,” Alfred said forcefully. “but, no, you can’t meet him.”

“Oh. Er…why not? Not a friendly sort of chap?”

“He’s dead,” Alfred answered matter-of-factly. “so it might be hard to arrange.” A strange look crossed his face as he looked at the back of Arthur’s head. He stopped working his hands and just sat thinking for a bit. “Say, Arthur…” he finally began, his voice strained. “You live in Heaven, right?”

Arthur’s heart sank. He knew where this was going. “Yes.”

“Do you…I mean…is my dad up there with you? Do you think you could find him if you go back?”

Arthur cringed. “Alfred…I--”

“Just for a second. Not any longer than that. Just to tell him that Mom and Emily and Matt and I miss him. Ask him if he’s proud that I got on his old team.” The edge of his voice was like a razor, sharp and metallic.

Pain veined through Arthur’s chest as the words were laid upon him. This notion had to be dispelled once and for all. “Alfred…Heaven…Heaven isn’t what you think it is. It’s…it’s like Earth, but for angels. It’s an entirely different dimension that became…worked into your human myths and legends before it was sealed away. When humans die…well, they don’t go to Heaven. Or Hell,” he added quickly, remembering the stigma attached to the Lower Dimension.

“Where do they go?”

“I…I don't know.” Arthur stared at the floor, wishing he had something better to say. The truth was that he had heard something about where the souls of the three Beings went after they passed from their own dimension. There were rumours…whispers in the quiet places of Heaven…talk of a place beyond knowledge—a fourth Dimension where the three races mingled after mortal life. The gates to this land were said to be guarded by a most elite, secret group of beings, both angels and demons, that kept a watchful eye on the pathway at all times. In dark corners, angels would joke that the quickest way to find out if there _was_ a fourth Dimension was to go _looking_ for it. It was, however, a one-way journey. That was all Arthur knew; his information came from mere mutterings heard in doorways. It would not do to tell these tales to Alfred. “I’m sorry.”

Alfred laughed unhappily. “No, forget about it. I’m being totally weird. Sorry about that, dude.” He renewed his massage of Arthur’s back with vigor. The angel still felt uncomfortable and tried to speak, but was cut off again. “I make decent money on the team,” Alfred informed him. “It supports my life well. I’ll probably stick with it until I can’t play any longer, unless…I dunno. Unless I fall in love or something. As if _that_ would happen.” He snorted. “But if it did, I’d probably quit. I mean…I’d need a steadier job. Something that paid better. ‘Cuz eventually I’d want to start a family, you know? Get our own place…move somewhere with a yard so the kids could play. I’d put my family first.” His voice was determined and he dug into Arthur’s back. “My dad put his family first. I’d do it too. If I fell in love, their happiness would be my number one priority, you know?”

Arthur squirmed away from Alfred’s hands, which had become slightly vice-like in their grip, and turned to face the other. “Sure, I guess. Why are you telling _me_ this?”

There was a pause, then Alfred grinned and looked away, taking his hands off of Arthur entirely. “I…I dunno. Sorry. I just…I thought you’d want to know.”

“No, no,” Arthur answered back hurriedly. “I do. Want to know, that is. You can tell me.” The two stared at each other, then simultaneously looked away, both awkward with embarrassment. Arthur felt his face burning and his chest tickling not unpleasantly. He cast about for something to say, anything to say to relieve this strange tension. “I mean…only if you have no one else to talk to. Don’t you have friends?” He regretted the jibe as soon as he said it, but didn’t know how to retract the phrase that had come out so wrong.

Alfred glanced at him, a little shocked, and stood up. “Yeah. No, I have friends. I just…I just thought you…I dunno. Maybe I’ll talk to, uh, to Keeks next time. It’s cool. I hope your back feels better.” With that, he left the room, a little unsure on his feet.

 _Damn it._ This always happened. Arthur hit himself on the head. When he was unsure of what to do or feeling awkward or emotional, he always said something stupid. Now Alfred wouldn’t talk to him about important topics again. _You’re a dolt! A complete prat!_ He hoisted himself off the floor, stretched, and found that his back did indeed feel much more limber than before. Looking the way Alfred had left, the angel found himself nervously energetic, something he wasn’t used to feeling. He should apologize. He should say something. But, somehow, the thought of talking to the American again was daunting. Maybe he could sleep on the problem and miraculously know what to do in the morning.

 _Miracles,_ he thought to himself with wry amusement. _Aren’t angels supposed to perform those?_


	8. Elizabeta

Gilbert was far more enthused about the plan to uncover Roderich’s infidelity once he had a night to rationalize it to himself. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking,” he said, pacing the room and snapping his fingers nervously. “I have this sort of…acquaintance who I have reason to believe has been _seeing_ the scumbag on weekends. She was the one who made me so suspicious about him in the first place. So here’s the plan: I wheedle information from her about when she’s going to see him next.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Arthur asked. He was sitting on Gilbert’s bed, following the man’s movements with his head.

Gilbert paused and chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway,” he began pacing again. “She tells me when she’s going to see him, we drop a line to Elizabeta, she finds them, and BAM. Break-up central. So, is my plan awesome or what?” He halted in front of the angel and grinned cockily.

Arthur thought about it for a moment while his partner in crime waited anxiously. “Are you sure she’s involved with the right man? We’ve one chance at this and we don’t need Elizabeta to find her with the wrong bloke.”

“I’m almost positive. She keeps bragging about the _famous musician_ she’s been sleeping with. Every time he has a stupid concert around here, she drops hints all over the place about how she has as many free tickets as she wants.”

Arthur grimaced. “Why is she telling you all of these things? Seems, I dunno, personal to me.”

A smirk crept onto the albino’s face. “She has a thing for famous people. Roderich’s a sleaze-bag but he _is_ famous. Now that I’m a—ahem—rising global author, she’s trying to impress me. It’s not working, though,” he added. “Because I could get any girl I wanted. That’s how awesome I am.”

“Except for Elizabeta,” Arthur said before he could stop himself, remembering that one day at the gym when Alfred had smirked.

A spasm of anger rippled through Gilbert’s countenance, but he closed his eyes and composed himself. “I do NOT _like_ Elizabeta. We’re just friends. That’s it. As a matter of fact, I think _she’s_ the one who likes _me._ ” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot, rolling his eyes. “I could make her fall for me any old time I wanted to. I don’t feel like it is all. I _like_ being friends.”

Arthur bit back the chuckle that bubbled in his chest and nodded gravely. “Right. Of course. Anyway, your plan sounds solid. By when do you think you might have the information?” He hoped it was soon. There were still many hollows to be filled in his little white box and time was sinking down the hourglass of his stay here on Earth.

“Give me three days,” Gilbert answered proudly. “If I’m not wrong, which I’m not because I’m me, old fiddle-face has some dumb showcase at the Arts Center this weekend. Bet you twenty dollars she’ll be there.”

“Fantastic. Let me know when it’s finished.”

oOoOo

Gilbert was even better than his estimate and called the phone in apartment 914 two days later. Matt answered the phone and yelled for Arthur, who hurried to take the receiver. “Done and done,” Gilbert said smugly. “I’ve got the information. You got something to write it down on? Alright, here it is. They’re meeting up after his concert on Sunday, just like I predicted. Am I great or what? Like, really, I should be a detective or something. I look great in a suit and sunglasses…I could be a spy or some sort of secret service…”

“Gilbert,” Arthur interrupted irritably. “What time on Sunday and where?”

“Backstage. I dunno when. Just look up when his piano-banging show is supposed to be over.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Say,” he queried, a little impressed with the other’s promptness, “how’d you get this information anyway?”

Gilbert hesitated for a second, then spoke. “Do you know what a _ménage-a-tois_ is?”

“What? No.”

“Didn’t think so. Look, don’t get your panties in a twist over it. Just appreciate me for the genius I am. Anyway, I gotta go.” The phone went silent for a second, then he giggled from the other side. “Is Al there? Great. Tell him that you want a _ménage-a-tois_ for Christmas. It’s a huge compliment; he’ll love it. Talk to you later.”

Arthur scrunched his face at the receiver before hanging it up on the wall and turning to where his roommate was lounging on the couch and watching a television show about video gaming. He’d been looking for something nice to say to Alfred ever since the other night…maybe this would do the trick. “Say, Alfred,” he began.

“Yeah, dude?”

“I want a _ménage-a-tois_ for Christmas.” He followed up the statement with a winning grin.

Alfred didn’t even turn his head. “Me too, man. Me too.”

oOoOo

In truth, there had been no actual three-way involved in the exchange of information, though Gilbert had made a promise or two that he certainly did not intend to keep. His acquaintance, Charlotte, had squealed with delight when he called her up on the phone and asked her to dinner the night after he had plotted with Arthur. “Of _course_ I’d like to go to dinner with you, Gilbert,” she’d crooned, holding the phone receiver between her jaw and her shoulder so she could use both of her hands to compulsively smooth her hair. “ _Tonight_? Oh, wow, so soon. You must be excited.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gilbert had replied, somewhat lacking in sincerity. “Besides, I have something to ask you.”

Charlotte made an interested noise on the other end. “Sounds scandalous! How does eight o’clock sound? I’ve really been interested in going to that new German restaurant across town…that must be perfect for you, right?”

“Sure, sure, that’ll be fine. I’ll see you there.” After hanging up the phone, the albino groaned. A whole dinner spent with Charlotte. Thank goodness they were going to a German restaurant—he’d need a lot of beer for this one. What should he wear? _Doesn’t matter. Everything looks awesome on me._ Maybe he should let it slip to old Lizzie that he was going on a date. Maybe she’d be jealous.

oOoOo

Alfred absolutely insisted upon accompanying Arthur to Roderich Edelstein’s CD-signing event at the local record store. “You can’t go by yourself, weirdo, you’ll look like some sort of obsessed stalker. You have to go with a friend. I volunteer myself.”

“Don’t you have practice to go to or something?” Arthur grumbled, pulling on his coat.

Alfred reached for his own coat. “Naw, man. We have our first game of the spring season next week so we’re scaling back on the intensity of the workouts for a few days. We want to have time to recover to get back into peak performance shape, you know? I totally have time to come with you.”

Arthur pulled a knitted cap over his head and sighed quietly. “Fine. But don’t natter once we get to the front of the line or you’ll say something strange and ruin our whole mission. Just…be quiet.”

Once the two were out the door and into the February cold, Alfred looked over at the angel and grinned. “You should trust me more, you know. I’m a pretty dependable guy.” When Arthur didn’t answer, he continued his own thoughts aloud. “Sometimes I’m a little excitable, yeah, but come on. I just like having fun. Say, what do you like to do for fun?”

“Eh…what? Me? Fun?”

“Yeah. Like in Heaven or whatever. What are your hobbies?”

Surprised, Arthur blinked rapidly. “Well. In Heaven I…it’s kind of embarrassing…”

“Tell me!”

“Well, I really liked watching what you humans were doing down here on Earth. I just always thought you had such neat lives. You’re…I dunno…colorful.” The cold air was making his nose run and he swiped at it with the back of his hand.

Alfred shrugged. “That’s not embarrassing. I didn’t know you guys could watch us. That’s, like, totally creepy and sort of cool at the same time.”

“Technically we’re not supposed to,” Arthur explained. “but no one really pays attention to what I do.”

“Oh.” Alfred looked sideways at Arthur, who was staring at the slush-covered ground as he walked. This was clearly a point of conflict for him. A few errant snowflakes had gotten caught in his prominent eyebrows and slowly melted as Alfred watched. “Well, tell me what else you like to do.”

Arthur was unused to being questioned like this, unused to having someone be interested in what he thought or what he did. He raised his head and pondered the question seriously. What did he like to do? “I, er, I like to read. I read a lot of books from all the different Dimensions, but Earth books are my favorite because they…well, I guess they have more depth to them. You humans have a lot of emotions.”

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. “A lot of emotions? Don’t angels have emotions?”

“Well, sure, but it’s different. We’re not supposed to…show them, I guess. Positive emotions are alright, but negative emotions are suppressed because…because we’re angels. We’re in Heaven. We think Heaven is perfect.”

The pair paused on a street corner to wait for the traffic light to change so they could cross. A little ways in the distance, a line had formed outside of a brightly-lit shop nestled between two office buildings. “That little store is where we’re going, right? I thought so. Whew, what a line. This is gonna take forever.” Though his words were negative, there was nothing in Alfred’s attitude that suggested that he was anywhere but where he wanted to be. He happily marched across the street and spoke up again. “You’re not supposed to show negative emotions, huh? You angels sound like Keeks. He has this thing where he doesn’t show any emotion at all, even the positive ones. Sometimes it can be really frustrating, but now that I’ve known him for a while, I can figure him out most of the time. It’s in the eyes, see.” He pointed at his own eyes behind glasses beaded with melted snow. “You have to read his eyes.”

Stepping around a rubbish bin, they fell into the back of the queue that stretched out of Marty’s Music Hut. At least thirty other people, fans of Roderich’s obviously, were lined up, CDs in hand, waiting eagerly and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the famous classical musician. Arthur pulled a still-wrapped CD from his pocket and handed it to Alfred. “Here’s what we’re having him sign.”

Alfred looked it over and handed it back. “Looks super boring. You know what music I like? Rock music. There’s nothing like some good American rock on a hot summer day. What do you guys listen to in Cloudland?”

Arthur frowned at the jab, but ignored it otherwise. “We listen to the same type of music you humans listen to, but we don’t have the same kinds of instruments. We have this one stringed instrument that’s really popular—it sounds like…what do you call humans call it…a guitar. That thing that you hold? Right? But it stands on the ground more like one of your…oh, what’s it called…it starts with an H. It also has strings.”

“Harp?”

“Yes, that one. It looks more like a harp than a guitar. My friend Shelly can play it well.”

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Ah…no.” Arthur shuffled his feet. “I’m not good at things like that. One time I tried to learn to play the organ…it was dreadful. They banned me from the practice hall.” Beside him, Alfred guffawed and the angel huffed in reply. “If I had to pick one to learn, though, I’d want to play the bass.”

The line moved up a couple of feet and a group of girls queued up behind them. One of them giggled and batted her eyes at Alfred, who smiled brightly back at her. Arthur scowled and she stopped, quickly looking away. Having not noticed anything unusual, Alfred turned back to his companion. “The bass, huh? You know, Romano teaches music lessons down at Antonio’s Musical Surplus. I bet he could teach you.”

“Romano? The unpleasant chap? Feliciano’s brother?”

“Yep.”

Arthur snorted. “I’d rather not. He looks like he’d bludgeon me with the bass once he heard how badly I played.”

“That’s why you learn, dummy. No one’s good when they start something. So you like creeping on humans, you like reading and you want to learn to play the bass guitar. What else do you like doing?”

Surprised, Arthur looked up at the taller man and knit his eyebrows together. “What are you playing at? Why are you so curious?”

Alfred raised his hands in defense. “Whoah, whoah, whoah dude! I’m just asking. You’re interesting and I want to know more about you. It’s not a big deal. You can tell me to shut up if you want.” He smiled agreeably down at his friend, whose angry look had dissipated.

Arthur took a moment to process this and examined Alfred’s face for any signs of insincerity. He found none, but he did notice that the cold air had turned the American’s cheeks red and had brought out a brightness in his eyes that was somehow endearing. The smile that adorned his face was honest. A tingle shot through Arthur’s stomach and he averted his eyes, shifting his standing weight. “I-I…” he began, stammering with a sudden nervousness. “Well, I also like needlepoint. And…and sometimes I write poetry.”

The needlepoint was too much for Alfred and he burst out laughing. “Haha! You do needlepoint? Dude, my _grandma_ does needlepoint of bible verses and keeps sending them to me. You’re like an old lady. That’s totally weird.”

Flush filled Arthur’s cheeks and he scowled. “I’ll have you know that we angels value the finer arts in life. I’m bloody good at it, too. What do you like doing that’s so _hip_ and _normal_?”

“Not sissy things like needlepoint, that’s for sure. I like playing video games—you know that, you’ve seen me play—and I also like learning about how they’re made. There are some really cool videos on the Internet that show you how programmers actually make games. Did you know that if you look in the code of a game you sometimes find hidden secrets that the designers put there for fun? How neat is that?”

“Pretty neat, I guess,” Arthur responded. They had reached the door of the music shop now and stepped into the warmth. As the heat soaked into his clothes, he loosened his scarf around his neck and breathed a little easier. “Is that it? Video games?”

Alfred pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his pocket after shaking the snow off of them. “I also like history a lot. I like watching documentaries about archeology, like stuff they’ve unearthed in Rome and Egypt and places like that. I just think it’s crazy cool. You know, some people think aliens helped build the pyramids!”

“Aliens did _not_ help build the pyramids.”

“How do you know?”

“We _watched_ you build the pyramids,” Arthur replied with a sense of superiority. “I mean, _I_ didn’t personally because I wasn’t alive then, but the rise of humanity on Earth is well documented in Heavenly archives.”

This tidbit of information didn't faze Alfred at all. “No, see, it’s a conspiracy. Of course they wouldn’t tell you about the aliens—they’re trying to keep it all a secret!”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

“You know, the Man.”

“Who’s the Man?”

“Come on dude, the _Man_.”

“I…what?” Arthur threw up his hands. “You don’t make any sense and you’re completely ridiculous.”

Alfred shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m right. You know I am.” His companion made no reply and only rolled his eyes. “I also like watching movies. Horror movies are my favorite because there’s always a hero who saves everyone from the monster or murderer or whatever. If I was in a movie, that’s who I’d be. I’d be the hero.”

A smile tugged the corners of Arthur’s mouth. “You’re right. You would,” he said quietly, half to himself. Alfred’s eyes shone and he opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by one of the line monitors ushering them forward. Sitting at a table, surrounded by piles of CDs and stacks of letters from fans, was a slim, dark-haired man with ivory skin and silver-rimmed spectacles. His fingers were long and slender, perfect for playing the piano, and his clothes were impeccably maintained. He eyed them as they approached and held out a pale hand to receive the CD for signing. Arthur handed it to him without a word.

The pianist signed the inside of the cover with a flourish and handed it back. “You know, fans are usually more talkative,” he commented, lacing his fingers together under his chin.

Arthur took the CD and waved it. “Not particularly interested in chatter. I get enough of that with _him_ ,” he said, pointing his thumb back to Alfred. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Oh. Well, do come to my show this weekend. Perhaps I’ll see you again there and you’ll be in more a conversational mood,” Roderich replied smoothly.

“Yeah, sure, maybe. Thanks again.” With that, the angel pocketed the CD and motioned Alfred towards the door.

The two walked back out into the cold and, once out of earshot of the door, snickered a little together. “What a prick,” Alfred laughed. “That’s the one who’s cheating on Elizabeta? Ugh. What did you want one of _his_ albums for?”

“I didn’t want the music,” Arthur explained, pulling the thing out of his pocket and examining it closely. Once satisfied, he held it up to Alfred’s face. “I wanted this.” With one finger, he pointed to the loopy signature, _Roderich A. Edelstein_.

oOoOo

As the final chords of the second-to-last song in Roderich’s concert set list echoed through the music hall, Elizabeta sighed softly to herself and absentmindedly reached up a hand to play with the magnificent diamond earrings that hung from her ears. The jewelry had been a gift from her brilliant boyfriend just this past week—he had requested that she wear them to tonight’s performance. She squirmed a bit in her seat, pulling her faux fur stole (also a gift) tighter to ward off the chill of the room. _Women’s clothes are so impractical_ , she thought to herself, tugging her skirt to move the high slit further to the side. She might have worn dress pants to the show tonight, but she knew how much Roderich liked dresses on her, so she had sucked up her discomfort and squeezed herself into this long, form fitting, deep crimson sheath with matching pumps. Her lovely brunette hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders without restraint, save for the addition of a small red flower over her left ear.

That annoying Gilbert had seen her leave her apartment earlier that evening. He was leaning against the doorjamb of his apartment, fiddling with something on his phone, when she walked past, self-conscious from the tightness of her dress. He had looked up briefly and then done a double-take, eyes wide. She had expected some joke or teasing from him, but he’d only smiled sadly and dropped his eyes back to his phone screen. “You look lovely, Lizzie,” he’d commented quietly as she waited for the elevator to reach the ninth floor. She didn’t say anything back, but his demeanor was strange enough to occupy her thoughts for half of the drive over to the Arts Center. Where was his usual swagger? What was on that phone that had dampened his spirit so mercilessly?

Now seated in the auditorium, listening to Roderich’s last song of the night, she closed her eyes, pushed away all thoughts of albinos and their problems, and tried to focus on the sound flowing from her boyfriend’s fingers. The music surrounded her, infiltrated her, and raised goose flesh on her arms. This was a haunting nocturne filled with dissonance and a slow temporal rise and fall, like that of the ocean tide, and it sent a shiver down her spine that had naught to do with the low temperature of the concert hall. How evocatively he played…how purposefully and passionately his hands flowed over the piano keys like a brook…how serious and mournful his face was, as if he felt every dark note inside his own heart. Elizabeta’s head swam with admiration as it always did when she heard him play.

When the song ended, she joined the rest of the audience in giving the performer a standing ovation as he bowed twice and then walked off stage. The heavy purple curtain closed and the other concert-goers chattered happily to themselves as they collected their belongings and began to file out of the rows of seats. As per usual, Elizabeta sat back down to wait for Roderich to finish his meet-and-greet and get changed out of his concert clothing. The staff knew her here—they would let her stay seated here, alone, until he was ready to leave. She was surprised, then, when an older usher called out to her: “Ma’am? Are you Miss Hedervary?”

“Yes, that’s me,” She answered, rising to greet him.

He held out a folded note to her and gave a short bow. “I was told to give this to you. A man gave it to me.”

“Oh? Thank you,” she said, taking the note and studying the writing on the front. It said _My dear Elizabeta_ in a handwriting that closely resembled Roderich’s, but a bit sloppier. She tore it open and read:

_Dearest Elizabeta,_

_I hope you enjoyed the concert. I would be honored to have you backstage for a few moments after the performance. Please wait until 11:30 pm and then ask one of the attendants to show you to my dressing room._

_Yours,_

_Roderich A. Edelstein_

_P.S. Do not bother knocking. I will be expecting you._

Elizabeta brought her hand to the side of her face, ogling the letter. The handwriting was still a little off…but the signature was definitely that of her beloved boyfriend. He had never invited her backstage after his performances, not since she had won the backstage pass the first time she met him. What did this mean? Why did her want her to come see him? Was…was this _the night_? She gave a little gasp and almost dropped the sheet of paper. He’d been dropping hints about marriage and long-term plans recently…was this the night that he would finally ask her to be his forever? To be Mrs. Edelstein, the wife of one of Austria’s most beloved concert pianists? Her hands began to shake. Thank goodness she’d dressed up tonight…could you _imagine_ being proposed to in _dress pants_? She ran her fingers through her thick, wavy hair and tried to smooth it down from where the humidity had caused it to frizz slightly. She then held up her left hand and stared at her fingers, wondering how a diamond would look nestled right _there_ between her pinky and her middle finger…she hoped it wasn't too big…she’d never been one for gaudy jewelry.

Her watch said it was 11:18, so she continued to sit in her seat, shaking her leg nervously. The minutes ticked away. She started to bite her nails, then stopped when she realized what she was doing. At the end of this night…she could be _engaged_. To Roderich. Her wonderful Roderich. Her tummy fluttered with anticipation. Finally, _finally_ , the watch showed 11:28. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she was a minute or two early, right? She stood up unsteadily, weak from nerves, and flagged down one of the attendants cleaning the seats nearby. The attendant looked at her note, led her to a side door, and told her that Mr. Edelstein’s room was the last door to the left and was she _sure_ he’d sent that note to her? He’d very specifically demanded that no one be admitted to his room that evening…

Elizabeta assured her that the note was genuine and walked through the door to the hallway, now more excited than ever. He’d requested that no one disturb him in his room? Surely this was it. He was preparing a romantic proposal…possibly with candles…and he didn’t want anyone walking in on it. She reached the last room on the left, adjusted her dress, took a deep breath, and opened the door. A woman gasped immediately and Elizabeta stumbled a step back from what she saw within the dressing room.

Roderich, _her_ Roderich, was on a table, astride a woman with a frilly green gown pushed up over her hips. Both of their shoes were discarded on the floor and he wore only his starched white concert shirt, which Elizabeta herself had ironed and which hung unbuttoned from his thin shoulders. The woman’s hair was mussed from lying on the table and her darkened lips were parted slightly in surprise as she stared at the girl in the doorway. Roderich’s head snapped up and he began a reprimand, “I told you NOT to come into my room until…” until he realized who it was and a shadow passed over his face. “Elizabeta.” He disentangled himself from the woman, who pulled her dress down immediately, and grabbed his underclothes from a nearby chair. “Elizabeta, look…”

Elizabeta’s stole had fallen to the floor in her shock. She stood rooted to the spot, note in hand, eyes brightening with the forecast of tears yet to come. “Rod…”

One leg at a time, the Austrian pulled on his trousers and held up a calming hand. “Elizabeta. Liza. I know this looks bad. It’s not a big deal, though. It’s…it’s just sex, you see, I don’t actually have any feelings for her.”

“Excuse me?” The woman on the table huffed indignantly.

Roderich ignored her. “I didn’t want to have to tell you because I know how delicate you are about these things. This is just something we musicians have to do, Liza. It’s a service to those who follow us faithfully and help our music rise to greatness so we can spread it to the world. You understand, right, my flower? This is just another sacrifice I make to ensure that you and I can continue to travel the world and do all the things my work allows us to do.” He held his hand out to her, beckoning her in.

“How many?”

“I beg your pardon?” The hand was retracted.

“ _How many_ , Roderich?” Elizabeta asked, her voice quivering and her hands clenching into fists. “How many more were there like this girl?”

“Liza, what does it matter?” Now putting on his vest, the musician was returning to his businesslike manner. “It’s a part of the lifestyle. Now come on, let’s go home and I’ll--”

“How many, Roderich?” Elizabeta shouted, the note fluttering to the floor noiselessly after slipping from her grip. She seethed for a moment, then shook her head and looked away. “No. You’re right. I don’t want to know. What does it matter?”

Roderich nodded approvingly, throwing a pair of lace panties to the other woman who had risen by now and was putting back on her shoes. “I knew you’d come around, my clever Liza.” He reached out and took her hand. “Let’s--”

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” She spat, wrenching her hand from his. “Don’t _ever_ touch me again. How stupid do you think I am? You tell me that this…this is part of your _job_? Part of your _art_? To cheat on me? To lie to me? You think I _believe_ that?” She put a hand to her head, almost laughing in hysteria. “I am an idiot, though. I trusted you all this time. All those times I thought you were just practicing late…oh, god, that day you told me that the mark on your neck came from someone hitting you with a music stand…I can’t believe myself.”

Roderich rolled his eyes, frustrated. “I knew you’d be like this if I told you. That’s why I tried to hide it. You’re so clingy, I knew you’d be overly dramatic.”

“Overly dramatic?” All warnings of tears were gone from her face, which glowed with the bright red of anger. “ _Clingy_?” She quivered for a moment in the doorframe, her lips pressed together. “Get out of my life, Roderich. I never want to have anything to do with you again. Ever.”

“Liza…”

“If you ever come near me again, I will hurt you. I swear to god that I will break those perfect fingers of yours. See how many women want to bed you then.” She knelt down, picked up her stole and folded it nicely. “I don't know what sick fantasy you were fulfilling with your note asking me to come back here. Here, take this.” She sat the folded stole inside the doorframe, and then undid her earrings. “Take these too. Give them to the next girl you sleep with.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it and wheeled away to leave. Roderich stepped out into the hallway as she left. “Liza, think about what you’re doing! I won’t take you back after this!” All he got in reply was a carefully polished middle finger before she disappeared behind the door that led back to the auditorium.

Sitting uncomfortably in the shadows, Arthur watched Elizabeta walk across the auditorium to the front door. She stopped in front of the door, sniffled a bit, and then pushed it open and left. He’d stayed after the concert to make sure everything went according to plan. Even though this was the right thing to do…it still felt so wrong. Riddled with guilt, he picked up his phone and texted Gilbert to let him know that the mission was accomplished.

oOoOo

Elizabeta couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in bed, alternately burningly angry and devastatingly heartbroken. She had tried so hard not to feel ever since she got home the other night…she had numbly pulled off her concert finery, undid her hair, brushed her teeth, and laid in bed…but beautiful, relieving sleep eluded her that night and now this night also. She sat up and put her head in her hands. She needed to cry…but she couldn’t. It was all still too sudden, too painful. Not twenty-eight hours ago she was thinking that she was about to be engaged…and now she was just another girl whose heart had been butchered. A leaden weight lay in her chest and constricted her breathing. Quietly, so as not to awaken Emma in the other room, Elizabeta swung herself out of bed and pulled on a thin robe.

The apartment complex in which she and the others lived was not a particularly fancy one. It didn’t have a pool or a gym, but it _did_ have a rather nice sitting room off to the side of the first floor. The room was filled with plush sofas facing a wide window and had, best of all, a small grand piano in the right corner. Before, whenever Roderich was abroad and she missed him, she would go to this room and plunk out a few notes on the piano and pretend it was he playing and not she. The sound of the notes always soothed her and she could almost feel him sitting beside her. It was to this room Elizabeta found herself heading at two forty-five in the morning, her house slippers making a small sound as she walked over the cheap carpet of the complex.

There it was, as always, the piano. The blackness of the cover and the ivory of the keys gleamed in the moonlight that peeked in from the shuttered window. She sat herself down on the bench and raised her hands to the keys, but found that she couldn't bring herself to play the notes. She didn’t want to hear the tones pierce her heart with the finality of the fact that she would never sit on a piano like this with Roderich ever again. She’d once thought that he only played privately for her…but now how many other girls had he seduced with music? How many…how long…

She left the bench and curled up in a ball behind one of the cushy sofas. She held her knees tight, tight, tight to her chest, holding in the pain like a dam holds in water. Rocking back and forth, she hummed brokenly the tune from _The Sound of Music_ that she used to sing to tease Roderich about his home country. “ _Edelweiss…Edelweiss…every…morning…you greet…me…”_ A tear coursed down her cheek. “ _Soft and white…clean and bright…you look happy…to see…me…_ ” The clouds burst in her chest and, with a sort of relief, she sobbed aloud, finally releasing the tears she’d pent up.

A figure appeared in the doorway and she looked up to find Gilbert leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a frown on his face. She laughed softly to herself, scrubbing away the water trails on her cheeks. Of course Gilbert would find her like this. _Stupid girl_ , he would say. _I told you not to fall for that guy. Girls are always crying over one guy or another._ She hugged herself tighter and tried to quiet her sobs by burying her face in her knees. Gilbert sat down solidly beside her and, surprisingly, stayed quiet. Elizabeta sniffed and cried, cried until she tasted nothing but salt. When the sobs lessened, she wiped her face again and spoke thickly. “What are you doing, Beilschmidt? Come to see me cry?”

“I heard what happened,” He replied seriously, his arms around his own knees. “I figured I’d find you here when I heard you leave your apartment.”

“Why are you worrying about me? I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself. Go away.”

Gilbert breathed deeply and shrugged. “I just figured that no one should have to face these kinds of things alone—even you, Superwoman. I _do_ know what it’s like to love someone, you know.” He sat and listened to her cry quietly for a little longer, then slowly, carefully put his arm around her. Emboldened when she didn’t pull away, he scooted closer to her and leaned her against his side.

Elizabeta looked up and saw that Gilbert’s eyes had closed as he held her to him. She snuffled and let herself relax into him. Another wave of tears came, then another, and then finally she was quiet. All the while, Gilbert’s thumb rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, not pushing for more. She felt an urge to explain herself, to tell him how she’d come to this place in her life. “Gilbert…I thought Rod…I-I thought he…”

“I know,” he said simply.

She huddled into his warmth, dropping her tears on his shoulder. “You don’t have to stay here with me, you know.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I know.” He didn’t move, but pulled her tighter instead.

Elizabeta’s breathing evened out over the next hour as she came to grips with everything that had happened. When she finally started to feel drowsy, she raised her head to find that Gilbert had fallen asleep holding her, his arm still wrapped around her and his head leaning against the back of the couch behind which they were sitting. She smiled through her tears and shook him gently awake. He was often incorrigible, occasionally dreadful, but, right now, he was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like PruHun. PruCan can be really sweet too!  
> Do you like PruHun or PruCan better? 
> 
> Also, sorry to anyone that really likes Roderich. It was necessary.
> 
> Leave a comment if you want to make me smile!!


	9. All Wrong

The snow from the night before had only just melted when Arthur paid a small sum of money to gain entrance to the Britannia Athletics Complex. It was close to 2 o’clock on Sunday afternoon and families from all Britannia and the surrounding cities had gathered to watch the first kick-off American football game of the year between the Roxville Giants and the Britannia Eagles. Arthur dug his hands in his coat pockets and hunched over, feeling conspicuous in the crowd of football fans. Truth be told, he didn’t know much about the game and he didn’t actually care to learn…he was here for one reason and one reason alone. That reason was out on the field at this moment, stretching before the game began.

Alfred had mentioned this to the inhabitants of 914 last night, after Arthur had returned from Roderich’s concert. Matt said he had an important paper due on Monday and needed to stay home, and Kiku had turned red and stammered out an apology about how he had already made plans to go to an all-day hack-a-thon at the local university. Upon learning that no one would be attending, Alfred was visibly subdued and went to sulk by himself in the living room with his Xbox. Arthur, who was in the bedroom changing out of his concert clothes, overheard the conversation and felt a pang of guilt. Alfred was excited about this game. He deserved to have someone go.

Now, shading his eyes from the spring sun, the angel scanned the field for his friend and found him near the end zone, stretching his hamstrings with a circle of his teammates. A thrill scurried around Arthur’s stomach at the sight and he instinctively ducked his head, hiding from the football players’ line of sight. _What is_ wrong _with me?_ He thought, smacking his forehead with the heel of his hand. He’d seen his roommate in various levels of undress countless times over the past two and a half months…why was the sight of a fully-clad Alfred affecting him _now_? It must be the feel of the day…the warm tendrils of sun just barely finding their way through the crevices of his clothes…the fresh smell of earth drying out after the snow…spring makes everyone go a little crazy, right? _This is, after all, the mating season here on Earth._ As soon as the thought voiced itself in his mind, he immediately felt embarrassed. What a thing to think!

Trying and failing to banish the idea from his mind, he found his seat and plunked himself down into it. Out on the field, Alfred finished stretching and went into a huddle with the team and their coach. An announcer was reading out the names of the starting lineup for each team over the stadium’s PA system, and Arthur experienced another jolt of electricity in his gut when _Alfred Jones_ was called out. A young woman selling pretzels walked in front of him and he leaned to the left to look around her. Alfred was walking on the field now, wearing his helmet and patting his teammates on the shoulder. With a tweet of a whistle, the game began and, all at once, the men rushed against each other, straining shoulder against shoulder.

As the main kicker, Alfred wasn’t on the field much, but anyone could tell he was respected by his team. Even though he didn't fully understand the game, Arthur was enthralled and simultaneously appalled. Each time someone slammed into his roommate, the angel grit his teeth and mindlessly grasped his knees. _That one looked like it hurt…is he limping? No, there’s something caught in his shoe. He’s rubbing his shoulder…this is why he’s always coming home with bruises and aches, the idiot…_ When halftime was finally called, he massaged his shoulders, sore from being tense, and stood up. Desiring to stretch his legs, he made his way through crowds of chattering fans and walked down the stairs to the front row of the stadium. From up close, he could see the teams’ members huddling together and pointing at diagrams of different plays.

Almost shyly, he searched the figures for his friend and found him sitting on a bench, still wearing his helmet and fiddling with the laces on his cleats. Another player called to him from a few feet away and Alfred pulled his helmet off with a clean motion, swept his damp, blonde hair off his forehead with his other hand, and then grinned back in return. The sun reflected off of his untidy head and Arthur felt his heart flutter in an unfamiliar way. He cautiously touched his chest and took a deep breath, willing away these absurd feelings. Before he headed back to his seat, though, he threw a last glance Alfred’s way and was startled to find the American looking up at him quizzically. When their eyes met, Alfred’s face lit up and he stood, dropping his helmet. He mouthed words that Arthur couldn’t understand and waved frantically. This attracted the attention of a few of his teammates and they walked over to Alfred, squinting in Arthur’s direction. To Arthur’s extreme embarrassment, Alfred pointed him out and waved again, saying something to the others as he did so. They playfully pushed Alfred around and elbowed him a little, causing him to laugh and wave them off. Just then, their coach called them over and they jogged away. Alfred took one last look at Arthur and dropped him a wink, then joined his teammates as the last seconds of the halftime ticked down.

The wink completely flustered Arthur and he stumbled over a hotdog wrapper on his way back to his seat. The second half of the game commenced, but the scores and plays barely distracted him from the pressing problem that was becoming more apparent every time his eyes flickered down to the familiar figure in the black and green uniform. Finally, with eight minutes left in the game, Arthur left his seat and hurried out of the stadium, feeling the burn of two blue eyes that must surely have noticed his absence in the crowd. Once outside, he picked up his pace and tried to jog to the bus stop, but was soon forced to stop and double over to pant, his breath misting in the air. Not only were his lungs even tighter than usual, his heart was beating faster than he’d ever felt it race before. He satisfied himself with walking quickly, his hands deep in his coat pockets. _This is the Halfway sickness,_ he thought to himself over and over again. Back in his mind, though, another voice whispered. _I’m not attracted to Alfred. I’m not attracted to Alfred. This isn’t happening._

oOoOo

 Arthur had been avoiding Alfred ever since the game; both of them knew it and neither wanted to be the first one to bring it up. Alfred was initially excited to discuss his win with his roommate, but became increasingly confused and disappointed the more Arthur refused to look him in the eye or talk to him alone. The two skirted each other awkwardly for two days before Alfred got fed up and banged on the door to the bathroom in which Arthur had just finished taking a shower. “Dude!” He yelled, his fist still on the door. “We need to talk!”

Inside the bathroom, Arthur stopped rubbing his head with a towel and froze, feeling the now-common butterflies invade his tummy again. So Alfred had noticed how nervous he had been lately. He was going to have to explain his behavior…but how could he without revealing the truth? The pesky, frustrating truth. _See, it goes like this—I’ve gradually become unable to think and breathe at the same time around you. I’m not entirely sure why, but I have a suspicion it has something to do with how kind you are to animals and other people. And also with how great your arse looks in football pants._ Arthur buried his face in the towel and moaned. That wouldn’t do at all. Outside, Alfred knocked on the door again. Arthur sighed. “Yes, yes, I’ll be out in a moment. Just…wait a bit.”

He took as long as possible to finish his post-shower ritual, even going so far as to consider taking tweezers to his eyebrows, which seemed particularly bushy today. When there was nothing left to do, he hung his towel over the shower rod and opened the door, letting a rush of steam out into the hall. Alfred was leaning against a wall, waiting with his hands in his pockets. “There you are. You sure take a long time in there. You take as long as my sister used to when she was in high school back in the States.”

“I do not!” Arthur replied, rising to the bait. “I just take more care with my appearance than peasants like you.”

Alfred grinned in response. “There’s the old Arthur. I knew he was still there.”

Arthur ducked his head, not sure how to respond. “Yeah? What about it?” Avoiding eye contact, he walked into their shared bedroom and sat on his own bed. Alfred followed him in and remained standing, looking uncharacteristically seriously down at his roommate.

“It’s nothing huge. I’ve just…y’know…noticed that you’ve been acting different lately. I wanted to know what’s up.”

“…I…I didn’t…er…realize that I’d been acting strangely. Sorry about that.”

Alfred laughed. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, dude, I was just worried, you know? I thought maybe something had happened at the game. Or…maybe someone had said something weird. My buddies can be total jerks sometimes. I noticed some of them had slipped off right after the second half got started and…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I didn’t get to meet any of your friends. I’m sure they’re lovely people. I just…I…er, sorry if I made you worry.”

“It’s fine, man.” Alfred crossed the room and sat down on his own bed, still looking at Arthur. “So how’d you like the game?”

Arthur raised his head slightly and tried to look at his roommate without blushing. “It was a right good time. You, er, you looked like you were having fun.”

“Yeah! I was! I was totally stoked when I looked up and saw you…I wasn’t sure it was you at first ‘cuz I didn’t expect anyone to come see me.” His eyes sparkled and he grinned. “Thanks for showing up.”

“O-of course,” Arthur replied, his efforts to suppress his blush failing. “I-it was my pleasure. I just…wanted to see what you do. You’re my roommate after all, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Alfred answered good-naturedly. “I really was excited that you came, though. I pointed you out to my teammates!”

Arthur chuckled a bit. “I saw. What were they laughing about?”

“A-ah,” Alfred’s voice wavered and he looked away. “They were just being boneheads, you know? Typical of them.”

“I must have looked quite odd,” Arthur sighed, irrationally depressed at the thought. “I didn’t have anything in your team’s color except this barmy old jumper I bought from the thrift store down the street, but I wanted to support you and—I mean, it’s not like I wanted to support _you_ specifically, don’t get any foolish ideas, I only--”

“No, they didn’t think you looked weird.” Alfred was looking away again. “They, uh, they were actually teasing me. About you, I mean.” At this, Arthur looked straight at the American and noticed, for the first time, a tinge of pink creeping up his neck and into his face. This was new. “They were joshing me ‘cuz, you know, it’s not often I get cute guys coming out to watch me play. They thought maybe, uh, maybe we were, uh, dating or something.”

Arthur’s face immediately flamed in response and he focused on a spot on the wall, his mind spinning from what he just heard. Alfred also became intimately interested in a piece of lint on the carpet and the two avoided each other’s eyes until the angel attempted to break the silence. “Well, that’s…I--”

“Say, Arthur?” Alfred interrupted, standing up suddenly.

Arthur looked up again, noticing the sudden change in timbre of Alfred’s voice. “Y-yes?”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

If Arthur’s brain had been spinning before, it melted now. “What?”

“Just to see if…maybe…” Alfred seemed to be having a hard time getting the words out.

“Like a date?”

Alfred took a deep breath, then let it out. “Yeah. Like a date.”

The angel’s lips formed the word without his permission. “Yes.” He then shivered, unable to believe that he’d actually agreed.

Alfred stared for a moment, and then broke out in a broad smile. “Sweet! That’s…that’s great! Great! Tomorrow?”

Again, words came from Arthur without thought. “I’d like that.”

“Great!” Alfred repeated, like he couldn’t believe what was happening either. “I’ll work out the reservation for dinner—don’t worry about a thing. What do you say we leave at…six? Would six o’clock be okay?” Arthur said that it would be fine and Alfred, even pinker with happiness, threw open the door and bounded out to tell Gilbert. “Gross, watch out for the carpet out here, dude, there’s a puddle.” He called back before he left the apartment.

Arthur shut the door behind Alfred and sank onto his bed, taking in what had happened and what he’d agreed to. Alfred had called him cute. He was going on a date. Tomorrow. With Alfred. Obnoxious, boisterous, perpetually sunshiny Alfred. This meant…Alfred liked him? Maybe he had liked him for a while now? What was this? Happiness? He clapped his hand over his mouth, but he was too late; a smile had begun to work its way across his face. _I’m dying,_ he reminded himself. _I don’t have time for happiness._ The smile became a chuckle and Arthur rolled over on his bed, pulling his pillow into a hug and laughing with relief after so many dark days. Even the threat of imminent death couldn’t stop the light feeling in his heart. So this was what it was to _like_ someone. _What a ridiculous, delicious feeling_. Still…something felt…off. What was it?

Across the hall, however, someone was experiencing the complete opposite feeling—despair. Kiku sat on the floor, a tray of overturned teacups before him, their contents already having been accidentally emptied onto the carpet in front of Arthur’s room. He had been suspicious when Arthur and Alfred had gone into their room to talk, so he’d made three cups of tea so he could go into their room under the pretense of serving refreshments. Right outside the door, however, he stopped and put his ear to the wood just in time to catch a prolonged silence, followed by The Question. _“Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”_ Alfred had asked. Kiku froze, sure that he must be misunderstanding something.

_“Like a date?”_

_“Yeah. Like a date.”_

Kiku’s knees went weak and he folded to the ground quietly, the tea spilling out of the cups and onto the floor. No, no, no, this wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. Arthur wasn’t even human, he…Alfred couldn’t possibly…Kiku had liked Alfred for _such_ a long time, why had he waited so long to…and now... Trembling, he picked up the teacups as quietly as possible and stole into his room just in time for Alfred to burst through the door across the hall. After the footsteps had faded away, Kiku leaned against his bed and put his head in his hands. For the first time in a while, he closed his eyes and thought back to the ancient gods of his parents in Japan.

_Please, gods, no. Please let this date go badly._

oOoOo

The air in the small restaurant was chilly, yet Arthur found himself already sweating through his sweater vest halfway through the main entrée. The whole set up was like a scene from some cheesy romantic movie—the candles flickering gently on the table, the ever so slightly dim mood lighting, the way Alfred’s knees would touch his under the table sometimes…this was a real, honest _date_. The food was delicious, but not so tantalizing that it distracted from the lighthearted conversation and the hopeful gleam in Alfred’s eyes. While nibbling on the last crumbs of his eggplant parmesan, Arthur ventured a question he’d been interested in all along. “S-say, Alfred…seeing as this is a d-date and all, I was wondering, er, when it was that you…decided you liked me?”

Alfred took a drink of his water and gave the question some thought. “Oh…I couldn’t give you a specific time. But, like, remember when we were getting that CD signed by Elizabeta’s ex?” Arthur nodded and Alfred continued. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you noticed it, but he was totally hittin’ on you. Sayin’ all this stuff about how you should go to his show and ‘be more talkative’ or whatever. Anyway, that kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I kind of wanted to punch him.”

“Oh…” Arthur blushed at the thought. “I think Roderich Edelstein could use a thump on the head, really.”

“Totally. I hear he already has a new girlfriend and all. Pretty fast, right? When I saw Elizabeta, though, she didn’t seem to care.”

Arthur put his fork down and smiled, glad to know the girl hadn’t suffered too much in the aftermath of he and Gilbert’s plan. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah. Hey, I told you when I started liking you. Now you have to tell me when you started liking me! I’m totally interested!” Alfred leaned back and grinned in anticipation.

Heart hammering against his ribs, Arthur floundered. What could he say? When _did_ all this start? This was too much information to just _give out_ …he wasn’t even sure he actually _liked_ his roommate like that…sure he felt a little funny about him…but this date was supposed to help him decide how to classify that feeling…he couldn’t tell Alfred that, though. That would surely hurt his feelings. He HAD asked Alfred first, after all…it only made sense that he answer his own question.“I…well…”

“Alfred? Is that you?” Arthur was saved from answering by a small female voice. They turned to see Lili Zwingli squeezing between tables to reach them. “Oh, and Arthur, too! Hello! It’s so nice to see you!” She wore the starched white shirt and ruffly black skirt of the restaurant’s waitresses and carried a large round tray.

“Lili! Dude, do you work here?” Alfred asked.

Lili straightened her skirt in embarrassment. “Oh, yes, I do. I help Vash pay for my education, you know, and this place really does pay its employees generously.” Her short fair hair was clipped on one side with a pert black bow and her eyes were rimmed with mascara, an unusual sight on the usually modest, meek girl. “I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were here or I would have waited on your table myself.”

Alfred laughed. “No worries! Guess what?”

“What?”

“Right now Arthur and I are totally on a date!”

Arthur blanched and Lili cheered quietly. “Oh how sweet! I hope this restaurant has met all of your needs. Sometimes I think the music is a little too loud…” She and Alfred continued to chatter, but Arthur sat back in his seat, aghast. This certainly wasn’t what he wanted—he hadn’t even told Matt and Kiku about the date…now Lili might tell someone else and soon everyone in the hall would know that he and Alfred… He’d allowed Alfred to tell Gilbert, but made him swear secrecy to everyone else. This date was just a test run. That was all. Alfred shouldn’t assume that now…just because they went on one date…it meant something big.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or something?” Alfred asked Lili.

Lili sighed. “Ah, no…I’m not allowed to date…or be out after dark unless I’m here.” She laughed, trying to cover up her discomfort. “I don’t think Big Brother trusts me very much. I’m a little jealous of you two.” She looked down and smiled bitterly. This admittance did explain one thing—why she never had any gentleman or lady callers. Lili was a pretty girl—her features were less lush than someone like Feliciano’s, but she had beauty in a small, fine way. If she never went out with anyone, it wasn’t for lack of charm.

“Don’t be jealous,” Arthur interjected, trying to put the evening back into perspective. “This isn’t a big deal, just a small dinner meeting.”

“Come on, dude! You can tell Lili how totally into me you are!” Alfred winked at Lili and grinned at Arthur. “Or you can save it and just tell me later with a fantastic good night kiss!”

Lili covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh, my. Well, please enjoy your evening. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Just…just the check, please…” Arthur answered, slumping back into his chair. He hadn’t realized that _kissing_ was in the expectations for the date. Sure…he felt _something_ for his oafish American roommate, but he didn’t know if what he felt warranted _kissing_ him…this was a bit too fast.

“Sure. Separate or together?”

“Together, of course,” Alfred replied quickly. “I’ll take it.”

Arthur sat forward again. “No, no, separate, please. I’ll pay for mine.”

“No, silly, _I_ asked _you_ on the date so _I’ll_ buy _you_ dinner,” Alfred explained.

If Alfred paid for his dinner, Arthur would almost _owe_ him a kiss…no, no, too much too fast! “No, I want to pay for my own food.”

“But--”

“I said I want to pay for my food!” Arthur insisted.

Alfred cocked his head, his smile faltering in the candlelight. “O-okay. Chill out, bro. You can pay for your food if it’s important to you. It’s just…you know…customary.”

Lili looked between the two and shuffled back and forth on her feet. “Ah, yes, well, I’ll go get those two checks right now! Be right back!” She hurried away, her skirt swishing behind her.

Silence.

Arthur began to feel as if he had overreacted and peeked up at Alfred. The blonde American’s lips were pressed together in obvious unease and he was fiddling with his silverware. “Alfred, I…”

“No, no, it’s totally cool!” Alfred laughed nervously. “It’s totally fine if you want to keep casual. Really. I just, you know, had this stupid vision in my head of what a date was supposed to look like. Totally dumb, right? Sorry about that.” His laughter trailed off awkwardly. Arthur waited miserably until the checks were paid, then followed Alfred out the door. Outside, Alfred pulled his coat tight and started up conversation again. “That place had pretty great food, right?

I bet they could grill a mean steak. You don’t, uh, you don’t eat much meat, do you?”

“No, we don’t eat meat in Heaven. The animals we have are all partially sentient, so we don’t think it would be right to eat them. Demons don’t eat meat, either. Actually, that’s kind of a good test to see if someone is from Earth or not—offer them meat. Only Halfways will eat it.”

Alfred shuddered. “There you go with demons again. That’s totally creepy, dude.”

Arthur chuckled, thinking about the demons he’d met. “They’re not scary. They’re just prats if anything. Well, I guess they might look a tad unnerving to someone who’d never seen them in their natural form before, but they won’t hurt you any more than any other Being. As a matter of fact, they’re rather less violent of a species than you humans.”

“We’re more violent than _demons_?” Alfred asked, shocked. “Boy, do we humans have to get ourselves together or what. It’s kind of sad, ‘cuz, like, more people need to know that kind of stuff…but if I went out and talked about demons and angels, no one would believe me.”

“It’s been so long since we interacted with your species directly…we’re in all of your ancient myths, but in modern times we’ve become…just that. Myths. Except to a few religions, but then they misrepresent us horribly.”

“At least you have a better reputation than demons, though, right? Everyone’s scared of them.”

Arthur shrugged. “I guess you’re right. It probably helps that we look more like you humans than demons do. Demons really used to scare some of you guys before they learned the art of Skinwalking.”

“…Skinwalking?”

“Yes, most demons simply adore the atmosphere on Earth and like visiting, but they didn’t want to keep scaring all the humans, so, naturally, they adapted. It took centuries of work from the highest demon warlocks, but they finally developed a magic that allows them to change shape to mimic that of you humans—honestly, sometimes I forget how ignorant you are as a species…” He smirked, then looked over at Alfred and stopped. “What?”

Alfred’s face had paled and his jaw was slack. “W-what do you mean they ‘like visiting?’”

“What do you think I mean? I meant what I said—they like visiting Earth. Hell has a very unusual climate, all hot in some places and cold in others, so it’s relaxing to them to visit in spring and autumn in places where the weather is temperate.” He stopped walking and knit his eyebrows together. “Seriously, what?”

“You mean…they’re _here_? On _Earth_? _Now_?” Alfred whispered, eyes wide. “And they look just like us?”

“Dear goodness, whatever is wrong with you? Didn’t I just tell you they were reasonably pleasant folk?”

Alfred shook his head and kept walking, now ogling all the people who passed them on the sidewalk. “It’s just creepy, man. I wish you hadn’t told me that. Anyone could be a demon! Matt could be a demon! Keeks could be a demon! Those two freaky girls down the hall are DEFINITELY demons! What are their names…Katyusha and Nataliya, I think. Them and their crazy brother with the weird violet eyes…”

“None of them are demons, I assure you,” Arthur snorted. “They’re very, very human. I haven’t met a single demon while I’ve been here.”

Alfred sighed in relief. “Good. But…you sure about those girls? The one with the really long silver-blonde hair is completely insane.”

“I’m positive. I’d know a demon if I saw one.”

Still, despite the angel’s reassurances, Alfred continued to eye everyone he passed until they reached their apartment complex. When they got into the elevator, he unwound his scarf and knocked ice from his boots, then turned timidly to Arthur. “I-I know tonight didn’t go quite like either of us had planned…but I had a good time. Did you?”

The thumping started up again in Arthur’s heart and he gulped. “Y-yes.” What else could he say? The actual dinner had been rather a fiasco, but he really did enjoy talking to Alfred.

“Good! I was worried you didn’t.” Alfred fiddled with the edge of his scarf before speaking again. When he did speak, his blue eyes shone with hope. “If…if it’s alright with you…I’d like to go out with you again. What do you say?”

Arthur froze. He had not expected to be asked this tonight. Everything was going too quickly again. Didn’t this guy understand that he needed time to process his feelings? How could he just expect him to give an answer about the future right after a first date? The elevator reached the ninth floor and the doors opened with a soft _ding_. The two stepped out into the hall, but Arthur still hadn’t spoken. What was he going to say? There…there were so many variables to consider…everything wasn’t as simple as _I’d like to go out with you again_. What did that mean? Second dates were more serious, right? When did you breach the “boyfriend” territory? At what point was he expected to start kissing Alfred?

Everything felt heavy, as if the weight of all three Dimensions had perched itself on his back. This wasn’t right. He didn’t have time for this. He was supposed to be making changes in people’s lives, after all, not cavorting around with a human like an idiot. “I…” This whole _premise_ was wrong…angels and humans didn't fall in love. That’s not how things _worked_. It had never _happened_ before. It didn’t matter what he felt. He had to end this now, before feelings got deeper and rumours started being spread. This couldn’t go on. “Alfred…I…I’m sorry.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked at the fleur-de-lis patterned carpet. “I don’t think we should go out again.” He slowly looked up to see the reaction.

Alfred’s smile broke in half and fell away, taking much of the warmth of the air with it, but he quickly patched it back on his face and looked away. “I-I see,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to quash the disappointment and hurt in his voice. “I really was too much, wasn’t I? Hah…I’m sorry.” He dug in his pocket for the keys and held them limply in his hands. “D-don’t worry about it being awkward between us, though, dude! Let’s just forget this happened, yeah? There…forgotten! No worries!” He laughed uncomfortably and unlocked the door. “I’ll be up for a while so I’ll try not to wake you when I go to bed. Good night!”

Arthur began to follow him through the doorway, but changed his mind and closed it after Alfred had passed through. Feeling entirely wretched, he slid down the wall until he came to a sitting position, then pulled his knees up into his chest. Here was another human emotion to experience—regret. That look on Alfred’s face…it tore into his heart more than he had ever expected it to. This was all for the best, though, right? Nothing good could come out of a relationship with Alfred. Dispirited, he pulled off his gloves and unbuttoned his coat. Slush dripped from his shoes and he looked at them unhappily. He had worn his nice shoes for this date. He had been…excited. Now it all seemed to be such a waste.

A noise down the hall distracted him and he looked up to see Vash Zwingli, bundled up for the cold, exiting his apartment. Vash locked his door, spotted Arthur, and gave a small wave. “Hello,” he said, seriously but not unkindly. “Are you locked out?”

“No, but thank you for asking. I’m just…sitting here.” Arthur finished lamely.

Vash cocked an eyebrow. “I see. Well, do take care not to catch a cold.”

“I appreciate your concern. I saw Lili tonight, by the way, at Cedar Wood Grill. She looked like she was working hard.”

“Really? I’m on my way to pick her up now, actually. Her shift should be ending soon. Glad to hear she’s making appropriate efforts.”

Arthur watched Vash walk toward the stairs. “Do you pick her up after every shift?”

“Of course,” Vash replied swiftly. “It’s too dangerous for someone like her to walk home alone. You never know what might happen.” With that, he nodded goodbye and started down the stairs.

Arthur leaned his head back against the wall, happy for the distraction from his gloom. Lili was right. _I don’t think Big Brother trusts me very much_. Why might that be…? Lili was small, yes, but solid enough to handle herself. Britannia was a very safe city with a low crime rate. Girls generally felt safe walking around the lit portions of the city at night without concern. Vash was a little too worried.

Even so, it wasn’t his problem. He had bigger things to worry about, like how to make another change in someone’s life…and how to go back to being friends with Alfred. He stood up and took a deep breath. It was only difficult if he made it difficult, right? This regret he felt…it would be gone by morning. He’d made his decision somewhat rashly, true, but he’d felt cornered and it…it wasn’t like he _wanted_ to know what it felt like to kiss Alfred just once. No.

That would be all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred baby T-T  
> Don't cry  
> Arthur is just a little off, that's all


	10. Inside Information

It had been an awkward week. Now six days since Arthur and Alfred’s disastrous date, life had mostly returned to normal in 914 H…except for the just barely perceptible tension that tainted the air whenever the failed lovers were in a room together. Matt, who knew nothing about the affair, did not notice the slight chill in the atmosphere and continued his life in blissful ignorance.

Kiku, however, took great relish in the discomfort between the two and was forced to consciously keep himself from doing untoward things like singing or giggling. Still, in the mornings he allowed himself a wide, rare smile. Arthur’s date with Alfred didn’t go well. They weren’t dating. Good—one day soon, Kiku would harvest his growing courage and ask out the guy of his dreams…

“Dude.” Alfred’s disapproving voice dissolved Kiku’s bright, shining fantasy. “What’s been _wrong_ with you this past week? You’ve been all…freakin’ happy and stuff.” He’d noticed his friend’s elevated attitude around mid-week, and, being the dolt that he was, had less than zero clue as to the reason. Despite his ignorance and lack of bad intentions, though, he had still managed to become thoroughly annoyed by the sunny aura emanating from the small man.

Had Kiku stopped to think about it, he might have been a bit taken aback by the implications of Alfred’s statement—his happiness meant something was wrong?—but he had chosen to abandon all deep thought for the time being and so skipped right over the backhanded concern. Breathing evenly, he suppressed the joy on his face and looked back at Alfred. “Oh, it’s nothing. I have had a good week, that’s all. Have you not? You seem tense.”

Of course he was tense. He was still sulking over his rejection, no doubt. That was okay, though. Kiku would fix that soon enough. Without thinking, the smile had returned to his cheeks and he stared dreamily into his gently steaming tea.

While Alfred rambled a bit about the goings-on of his week in response to Kiku’s question, Arthur sat on the couch, sipping his own tea and glowering. He knew why the Japanese man was so happy. He had correctly deduced, based on his previous suspicions and Kiku’s timing, that he and Alfred’s disastrous night had given rise to this glee. He knew, and it ate at his insides in some amorphous, wordless way. It wasn’t right for Kiku to be so cheerful over the misfortunes of others. It was rude. It was distasteful. It was annoying.

What was this? Jealousy? Arthur squirmed at the word. Yes. He was jealous that Kiku was now free to declare his feelings to Alfred.

 _I haven’t a right to be jealous_ , he reminded himself silently, angry with himself. _I said no. I was correct in saying no. I have to stick by my decision now…I can’t just up and change my mind._ His brow knit together tighter the harder he ruminated and he could feel the first pressures of a headache coming on.

“Hey, Arthur, you thought of any new ideas for getting your wings?” Alfred asked, calling over to where the angel was seated.

Arthur flinched a little, still not used to how kind the American had been since the rejection. He had expected to be cut off from communication, to be refused friendship…but all Alfred had done was avoid eye contact for a day before returning to as close to normal as Arthur could dream. Yes, there was some nameless element missing from the way he looked at his roommate now. Yes, he grinned a mite less than he used to…but he was unfailingly amiable in his boorish Alfred way.

If anything, Arthur had accidentally treated Alfred worse than vice-versa. “Er,” the angel said, clearing his throat first. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been trying, but nothing I think of seems to pan out in a practical sense.”

As he was too embarrassed to look at him, Arthur could _feel_ rather than see Alfred frowning. “I’m sorry to hear that, dude,” the American responded. “I hope something works out for you soon. Tell us if you need anything, alright? Keeks and I’ll help ya, right Keeks?”

“Y-yes!” Kiku stuttered in his response, pleased at being specially singled out.

More daggers of kindness. More jealousy. Arthur bobbed his head at the two. “Thank you. I mean it.” _Kiku has every right to look at Alfred like that._ He brought his head down closer to his knees and rubbed his temples. _What the_ hell _are you doing, Arthur? You want to turn Alfred down and also deny him a relationship with others? You’re the worst kind of person._ _This is why no one wanted you back in Heaven_.

He stood up and crossed the room to put his half-empty teacup in the sink, then pulled on galoshes and a coat. “I fancy a turn outside. Do either of you need anything while I’m out?” Both the men at the table shook their heads and, at that moment, the eyes of the two blondes caught and held each other in a tentatively searching gaze. Before he could stop himself, Arthur gave the other a small, warm smile. A tendril of hope flickered behind Alfred’s eyes and his breath was delayed by a beat. These signs exhilarated and pained Arthur all at once, and he whirled around and was out the door more before he could inflict any more damage.

 _Yeah. He still likes you. He’s still falling and you’re not doing him any favors by toying with him like this. You can’t have him. Stop being so abominably selfish._ Through his shame, he keenly felt a thrill race through his stomach when he thought of that look in Alfred’s eyes. _Hope you’re happy, Arthur, you arse._

oOoOo

Kiku’s eyes darted between Alfred’s stone face and the door through which Arthur had just exited. He’d seen the smile. What cruel game was this angel playing? Had he rethought his decision or was he just a tease? Alfred’s expression still hadn’t changed. Kiku pulled his cup closer and curled his hands around it, leeching any remaining warmth. “I wonder where he’s off to. He can be rather…inconsistent, don’t you think?” He picked his words like the strings of a guitar.

“He’s…” Alfred’s voice sounded tired. “Yeah. He’s pretty weird.” He finally looked away and then stood up. “I’m gonna head to the gym.”

As he watched Alfred walk away, Kiku made a face. _I’ll give it a little more time. It wouldn’t be fair to rush him._

oOoOo

By the time he’d walked far enough to become a little overheated under his jacket from the exercise, Arthur had decided on a destination. He arrived on the stoop of Cedar Wood Grill, which served as a trendy, upscale café before 6:00 pm. Lili had told him not two days ago that she worked afternoons half the time and evenings the other half. If a small bit of luck was on his side, today might be a day shift for her.

He stepped into the restaurant, ignoring the jingling of the bell over his head, and looked around. She wasn’t anywhere in sight, so he approached the hostess’ stand. “Pardon. Is, er, Lili Zwingli working today?”

The hostess greeted him and consulted a list she brought out from an alcove in the stand. “She sure is. She should be here now…” She craned her neck to look around the room. “I don’t see her, so she might be in the back. Would you like me to go find her?”

Arthur rocked back and forth on his toes, feeling like a stalker. “Ah…yes, please. That would be great.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be back in a moment.” Before she left, the hostess gave him a once-over, then smirked approvingly. Arthur realized that he probably looked like some lovelorn suitor come to see Lili and blushed a bit, but stood his ground until she returned with the small blonde girl in tow. “Found her!”

Lili smiled happily at her guest. “Hello, Arthur! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon…did you not bring Alfred with you this time?” Arthur’s face must have betrayed his discomfort, because her smile dropped and she covered her mouth worriedly. “Oh, my, did your evening go that badly?”

At those words, the hostess (who was shamelessly eavesdropping) realized that she wasn’t about to witness a romantic scandal and went back to looking through a magazine she had laid upon the top of the podium. Glad to be rid of her listening ears, Arthur turned his full attention to Lili. “It…that’s more or less why I came here. I thought…I thought maybe we could chat for a bit? Do you mind terribly?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Hold on and let me go ask my boss if I can take my break early today, alright?” She threaded her way through the tables and back to the kitchen. Presently she came back, untying the work apron around her waist as she walked. “Come on, let’s sit over here next to the window.” She beckoned him over to a sunny booth with a pretty view of the street. “Do you want anything to drink? I get all non-alcoholic beverages free.”

“Ah…some tea would be lovely. Earl grey if they have it.” Arthur fidgeted with the neatly rolled silverware in napkins until she returned with the hot drink. “Thank you. And thanks for speaking with me. I know it’s a little strange, what with me just waltzing in here to bother you about my life.”

Lili giggled, a happy springy sort of sound. “Don’t mention it. I’m not told much of the gossip on the hall, you know, so it’s nice to be included in a neighborly story-swap every now and then. What’s going on?”

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair and laughed shortly at his own inability to put his problems into words. “Well. I don’t really know where to start.”

“Is this about Alfred?”

“Yes. Well…I…no, yes.”

Lili’s face went slack and she cocked an eyebrow. “That made no sense.”

“Sorry. The answer is yes. This is about Alfred.”

“Okay. Well, how did you enjoy your date? If you don’t mind me being a little forward, you seemed a bit…defensive when I came to your table. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

Arthur waved his hand to allay her concerns. “No, no, no, you didn’t make the night awkward at all. _I_ made the night awkward. I just…I don’t know…it was all so…I’ve never done this sort of thing before. This…dating thing.”

“So you were a bit on edge at dinner. That’s not so bad. That can be salvaged. What happened when you left?”

“That’s the bad part,” Arthur admitted, resting his forehead on his palm. “He said he wanted to see me again.”

“And you said?”

“I said no.”

“Oh, so you don’t like him in that way.”

“No, I…I think I do.”

Lili looked up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the information she was receiving. “Okay. So…you like Alfred. As in _like_ Alfred.”

Arthur felt his face heat up. “Ah…yes.”

“But you don’t want to date him.”

“No. I mean, _yes_ , but…oh, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about anything. I turned him down, but every time I look at him I feel all mixed up and can’t help but take the mickey out of him or agree to whatever ridiculous scheme he’s come up with or do _something_ that makes it seem like I wish I’d answered differently and I don’t even know if I _do_ wish I’d answered differently…” The angel thumped himself in the head with the heel of his hand, realizing what a wishy-washy, teasing prat he must appear to be. “I'm actually the worst person ever, aren’t I?”

Instead of darkening with confusion or judgment, though, Lili’s face brightened up and she giggled again. “Oh, no, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. This is pretty common.”

Arthur looked up quickly and lifted his brows. “You don’t say?”

“Sure, especially for someone who’s never dated before. Commitment is scary, isn’t it?”

“Commitment?”

“Yeah, like…if you keep dating Alfred you’ll become his boyfriend, right? Then you’ll have to be exclusive and do boyfriend things. You don’t know how to be a boyfriend, do you?”

“Ah, no.” Arthur frowned, not even knowing what ‘boyfriend things’ were.

“Have you ever…like…kissed someone before?” Lili looked embarrassed to ask, but stuck to the question.

Equally embarrassed to answer, Arthur dithered a moment before replying. “Ah. Well. No.”

“Then it totally makes sense that you would be hesitant to start something so new.”

“Oh. Okay. So this is normal, what I’m feeling.”

“Completely. Take a risk, maybe, or don’t if you don’t feel ready. But you can’t string Alfred along forever, you know. Sooner or later you need to make up your mind and act accordingly.” Lili’s face became a tad sterner. “It’s just cruel otherwise.”

Arthur ducked his head shamefully. “You’re right. I’ll figure it all out soon. Thanks for talking to me.”

Lili grinned. “Anytime! I can be your _love counselor_.” She laughed, then added “Just kidding.”

Arthur returned the laugh. “I don’t suppose I’d mind too much. I mean, if you don’t mind.” She smiled at this and he sipped his tea before clearing his throat. “Well, what about you?”

“Me?”

“Sure. Do you, er, have anyone special?”

“Oh!” It was Lili’s turn to look uncomfortable. “No, I don’t. I, um, well, Big Brother doesn’t let me date.”

Arthur exhaled sharply. “Wait, we asked you this the other night, didn’t we? I should have remembered. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. Really. I mean, I don’t have time for dating anyway.”

“So you don’t wish things were different?”

“Well…maybe. But Big Brother always tells me that dating can be dangerous for a small girl. The world is a treacherous place, he says. That’s why I can’t walk home by myself after shift.”

Arthur bobbed his head agreeably. “That’s mostly right. I don’t think dating would be all that bad for you, though.”

Lili shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I do wish he trusted me a little more, though. I want to be able to do things like take the tram home and go out with my friends on weekends…but when he mentions how small and weak I am, I can’t help but acknowledge that he’s right.”

“Well…have you ever thought about something like…self-defense classes? If I’m not mistaken,” Arthur screwed up his face, thinking. “Im-Young Soo’s roommate, Kaoru, works at a dojo. I think that’s what I heard Kiku talking about the other day. He teaches…er…something that has to do with _ties_ and _quan dough_. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Um…you mean taekwondo? That’s a style of martial arts. I didn’t know Kaoru was into martial arts!”

Arthur snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Taekwondo. I heard he’s excellent at it and teaches classes in the evenings. Why don’t you go check it out? I’ll even pay for the first few lessons.”

Lili’s mouth dropped open. “R-really? You’d do that? I…I couldn’t accept such generosity.”

“Oh, please. Consider it payment for my _love counseling_ lessons, hey?”

“A-ah…I mean…if you’re sure that would be okay…”

Arthur smiled and dropped her a wink, a trick he’d picked up from watching Alfred charm women. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I…thank you! Yes, I’ll talk to him about it tonight! I’ll ask Big Brother, too. Thanks so much, Arthur!” Lili’s elated grin stretched across her face uncontrollably.

Arthur stood, stretched, and held out his hand to help Lili out of the booth. “Don’t even mention it. I’m going to go think about my…er…dilemma. You think about yours, also. Shall we meet up next week and discuss what we’ve decided?”

“Ooh, yes, let’s! Same day, same time?”

“I’ll be there.” Waving goodbye, Arthur took his leave and exited the restaurant, feeling lighter on his toes than before he entered.

oOoOo

Not two days after Arthur’s visit to Lili, word spread down the 9th floor hall that Ludwig had finally gone and popped the question to his Italian boyfriend who, elated, had said yes. Emma immediately took charge of putting together a _Congratulations_ party and went door-to-door, asking for dates of availability and volunteers for bringing food. “Now this is a _secret_ , okay? Don’t let Ludwig and Feli find out!” Usually any secret in the hall would be known within a day because Feliciano would accidentally spill it, but since he was the one from whom the secret was being kept, the news stayed under tight wraps until the actual night of the party.

Ludwig and Feliciano, having been shooed out of the apartment for a few hours by Gilbert, returned from a shopping trip to a living room full of cheering neighbors who were more than eager to share in both well-wishing and the consumption of cheap wine. Matt had made a platter of poutine to contribute to the array of food on the table, and Arthur pouted when he saw that his own hand-made croquettes were nowhere to be found (Alfred had surreptitiously thrown them out a window earlier).

The four from 914 H were already a bit tuckered out from setting up by the time the guests of honour arrived, but they put on their best faces and celebrated anyway. Arthur thumped the lovebirds on the back, Kiku and Matt extended heartfelt hopes for prosperity, and Alfred made suggestive winks at Ludwig which might have gotten him hit over the head by the burly German had not Feliciano completely not understood what was being implied. After dragging Alfred away by the ear, Arthur stepped away from the crowds and into a corner where he could breathe for a moment in peace.

His peace didn’t last long. Not fifteen minutes into the party, angry yells broke out from near the alcohol table. Arthur jerked his head up in time to see Romano, fists clenched, cursing wildly in another language, shove a distressed Ludwig up against the wall. The Italian brought his fist back as if to hit Ludwig, but was distracted by a wail from Feliciano, who was begging for him to stop.

In the moment that Romano’s anger softened slightly by his younger brother’s tears and his fist hesitated, Gilbert seized him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. “DON’T TOUCH MY BABY BROTHER,” the albino bellowed, raising his own fists when the other scrambled up from the ground and crouched defensively.

Feliciano, light glinting off his new gold ring, threw himself clumsily between Gilbert and Romano, unable to stand up straight because of how hard he was crying. “No, no, no, please, Gilbert, don’t hurt him, please, don’t fight! Please don't hurt Romano, he doesn’t understand what he’s doing, please, no, please…” Romano, in response, pulled Feliciano behind his back, lunged at Gilbert, and things might have gone very badly had not both Antonio and Ludwig swept in and put a stop to the fight.

Ludwig crossed his arms over Gilbert’s chest and dragged him into the kitchen while Antonio nearly effortlessly tossed Romano over his shoulder and carried him out of the apartment. Surprisingly, Romano didn’t fight against Antonio aside from showering him in colorful language with every step. Whispers broke out immediately after the door closed behind him.

Arthur looked around the room. Elizabeta started calming Feliciano down, Emma left the apartment after Antonio, Alfred headed to the kitchen, and that weird guy, the big blonde one with the long tan coat and the light violet scarf from the first party—who WAS that guy!?— started giggling from the sofa, obviously amused. Grabbing a glass of ice water from a table, Arthur followed Emma through the door, stepped into the brightly lit hallway, and closed the door behind him.

Outside, Antonio had seated himself on the floor with his back against the wall and Romano folded in his lap like a toddler. Emma leaned against the wall a few feet away, blowing up at her bangs, her face creased with annoyance. Arthur dumbly crouched down beside Antonio and offered the water. Antonio took it with a smile and leaned his head down closer to the younger man in his arms. “ _Ay, querido_ , look, Arthur brought you some water. Now drink it and get some sense back in your head.”

Romano mumbled something inaudible back, but took the glass and drank half of its contents. Still smiling, Antonio spoke soft words to him, words that Arthur couldn’t make out. After the glass of water was finished, the tall Spanish man pulled Romano to his feet and gestured down the hall. “Let’s take a walk, what do you say? Some fresh air might make your big dumb brain more reasonable, no?”

“I’m not half as dumb as you, you bastard,” Romano replied, but Antonio only chuckled and continued to lead him to the stairwell. Emma watched them until they disappeared down the stairs, then groaned and gestured Arthur back into the party.

Most of the guests had cleared out by the time Antonio returned without Romano. “I said he could sleep on my futon tonight until he cooled down,” he explained when questioned by Feliciano, who had calmed down. “Many thanks for the water.” He said to Arthur, who had stayed behind partially to help clean the mess and partially out of curiosity.

“Of course,” Arthur replied. “Was he drunk?”

“No,” Antonio sighed, sitting down hard on the couch next to Emma. “No, he’s just…Romano. No one can say what goes through his head.”

“Nothing goes through his head,” Gilbert groused from across the room, massaging his pectorals from where Ludwig had squeezed them so hard. “He doesn’t have a brain.”

Ludwig made a noise under his breath and hit his brother lightly over the head with a washcloth. “Don’t say things like that. You know it upsets Feli.”

Gilbert grimaced. “He’s in the washroom; he can’t hear me. You sure are marrying into a mental family, West,” he grumbled, earning another gentle whap on the noggin from Ludwig.

Their attention was diverted by a groan from Antonio, who had settled his head into his hands, running his fingers through his own hair. “I just…I just don’t understand it.”

“You don’t understand what? Why that guy’s such a psychopath?” Gilbert asked. “I thought it was clear—obviously he’s possessed and-”

“ _Shut it_ ,” Ludwig growled, browbeating his brother into silence.

Antonio laughed tiredly. “No. I don't understand why he hates me so much. I mean…I try to take care of him. I’ve known him for years—since he was a boy. I don’t know what I could possibly have done to get him to despise me so thoroughly.”

Emma made a sound of dissatisfaction, but was cut off by Feliciano, who had appeared unnoticed around the corner. “What are you talking about? Roma doesn’t hate you.”

“Did you _hear_ the things he called me as I was taking him outside? I don’t have to speak Italian to know they weren’t pet names,” Antonio said, laughing again to mask the hurt he obviously felt. “I’m still not angry with him. I can’t _be_ angry with him. It’s ridiculous.” He hid his face in his hands again.

Feliciano sat on the floor across from Antonio’s seat on the couch. “No, no, you don’t understand him; that’s all. He doesn’t hate you at all. He really, really likes you.”

Antonio snorted. “As if, sweet Feli.”

“No, I’m serious. That’s how he talks when he really likes someone. Honest.”

“I’d hate to hear how he talks when he _doesn’t_ like someone, then,” Gilbert called from the other side of the room. “He must _love_ me. He must absolutely--” At that moment, Ludwig reached a hand out from the kitchen and dragged his brother into it, cutting him off from saying anything further.

Shaking his head, Antonio stood up and stretched his shoulders. “I would like to believe you’re right, Feli…but I don’t. You are right about one thing, though—I don’t understand Roma at all.” He stuck his hands into his pockets, checking for his keys, and then nodded his head at the group. “Good night. Congratulations again, Ludwig and Feliciano. I’m happy for you.”

As he left, Feliciano stood up, his face twisted into some unrecognizable expression. He huffed at Antonio’s back for a moment, then turned away and joined his fiancé in the kitchen, leaving Emma and Arthur alone. “Geez,” Emma muttered, gathering up her cell phone and keys. “What a night.”

Arthur followed her out of the Beilschmidt and Vargas’ apartment after wishing the hosts a good evening, but stopped her before she stuck her key into her own apartment door. “Romano’s tantrum made you mad, didn’t it?”

Emma paused and turned to face him. “What?”

“Oh, I just mean…you’ve looked irritated ever since Antonio took Romano out of the party. I was just curious.”

Emma shifted her weight to the foot closest to the door. “Yeah. Well, it’s not that it made me mad…I sort of expected him to do something stupid like that. It’s…it’s the way he treats Tonio that frustrates me, you know? Like…Tonio is always pulling him out of trouble and fixing his problems and Romano’s never been grateful, not even once.”

“Really?” Arthur asked, raising his bushy eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah. Like, Romano is wicked gifted at music. He really is. Problem is he’s such a jerk no bands would take him in, so Tonio hired him at his music store as a music teacher. Did Romano thank him? Not that I heard.”

“That’s…wow, that was very kind of Antonio.”

“Right?”

“Why does…” Arthur scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I mean, why would he spend time with a guy who treats him so poorly?”

At this, Emma raised her hands to the ceiling, silently begging an invisible deity for patience. “Because he’s an idiot, that’s why. He’s…well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, alright?” Arthur nodded his head fervently and Emma continued. “Tonio’s been in love with Romano since they first met. I don’t know why. No one knows why. I tell him twice a day what a dimwit he is.”

“Has he ever told Romano how he feels?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I think he’s scared it would freak Romano out and he would stop talking to him or something.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Feliciano is right and Romano actually likes Antonio back?” asked Arthur, starting to feel like he was prying into the situation too much.

“I dunno. I would ask Romano myself, but the guy really can’t seem to stand me. I mean, he insults Tonio all the time, but he won’t even _talk_ to me. Dunno why.” She rolled her eyes and twisted her keys in the lock. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, okay? Have a good night! Tell me if you or Alfred ever want any more cake!”

Arthur turned away as the door closed, thinking back on the few times he’d ever seen Romano and Antonio interact. Antonio favored the Italian, that much was obvious upon retrospection, but Romano had never showed much in the way of reciprocation. Surely Feliciano would know his own brother, though, and would be able to tell when Romano was acting differently. Feliciano _was_ naïve at best and delirious at worst, however, and might live in his own rose-colored fantasies.

Such thoughts carried Arthur down the hall and into the apartment, where Matt and Kiku sat in front of the television, watching some reality television show. “Ah, Arthur, how did everything end up with Feliciano?” Matt asked, noticing the fourth flatmate’s entrance.

“It was alright. Elizabeta got Feliciano to stop crying and Antonio took Romano to his house to decompress. Ludwig might have cracked one or two of Gilbert’s ribs, though, judging by the amount of complaining Gilbert was doing.” Arthur smirked at the memory, wondering to himself who would win in a fight between the older and younger Beilschmidts.

Matt exhaled heavily. “God. What a mess, eh, Kiku?”

“Indeed,” the Japanese man replied. “I was not sure how to help in such a situation and felt very uncomfortable. Ludwig and Feliciano deserved a more proper engagement celebration.”

“You’re right,” said Arthur. “Maybe we can throw them great bachelorette parties instead.”

Matt chuckled. “You mean ‘bachelor’ parties. ‘Bachelorettes’ are women.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Thanks.” Arthur hung around for a few minutes to try to understand the premise behind the show the other two were watching, but left when three women began fighting and one pulled off another’s wig. Humans entertained themselves in such strange ways.

The light was still on when he opened the door to the room he shared with Alfred, but his roommate had clearly fallen asleep while reading a comic book. Arthur smiled to himself and closed the door quietly behind him, but then turned and tripped over one of Alfred’s shoes, which sent him crashing to the ground. Alfred awoke with a yelp, noticed Arthur’s predicament, and started laughing heartily. “Dude. You cool? You need some help?”

“I-I’m fine.” Arthur responded, embarrassed to have made a fool of himself. “You oughtn’t to fall asleep without changing clothes like that, you know. You’ll catch a cold.” He picked himself up off the floor and kicked the offending shoe back over to Alfred’s half.

“Fine, fine,” Alfred responded, then immediately stood up and stripped his shirt and shorts off. “Better? Now I’m in pajamas.”

Arthur gaped at him, appalled by his own bodily reaction to the sight more than the sight itself, and squeaked a little. “Don’t just take off all your clothes without warning other people!”

Alfred laughed. “I didn’t. I still have my boxers on. I can take those off, too, if you want.”

“No!” Arthur yelped, feeling his face burn even hotter. “Get under the sheets and cover that depravity!”

“Chill out, angel bro,” Alfred replied. “I’ll go to bed. Geez. I was just teasing you.” His voice dropped in tone and sounded ever so slightly wounded. Rolling his eyes, he turned his back to his roommate and pulled his blankets up to his shoulders.

Arthur changed his own clothes quickly, brushed his teeth, turned the light out, and lay down on his own bed. In the silence he could hear Alfred’s still uneven breathing indicating that he was awake. For some reason, that knowledge made him nervous and he wondered what the other man was thinking about. Was he picturing what Arthur would look like in only boxers? _STOP. You don’t want Alfred to be thinking of you like that,_ the angel’s conscience screamed.

 _But I_ do _want him to think of me like that_ , the other half of his mind countered, voicing its opinion for the first time.

_What? You’re an angel. That doesn’t make any sense._

_Love doesn’t have to make sense. Look at Antonio and Romano._

_Do you even realize what absurdity you’re saying? You can’t have him. You’ll hurt him, or worse._

_What could be worse?_

_You could fall in love with him, that’s what._

_Would that be so bad?_

Arthur sat up straight in bed, breathing hard. _Would_ it be that bad? He wanted Alfred. He wanted to give it a chance. Why shouldn’t he? Surely he could work things out with Heaven later. Why not? Why the _hell_ not? “Alfred.”

Alfred yawned audibly. “Yeah?”

“Go out with me.”

“Uh. What?”

“Go out on another date with me, please.”

The darkness of the room amplified the silence until Arthur wondered if Alfred was ever going to respond. “…why?” The American finally asked.

“Because I like you. I really like you. I gave you the wrong answer the other night, so please give me another chance.” Beads of sweat rolled down Arthur’s thighs as he waited for his answer.

“Are…are you serious?”

“Yes.”

There was a rustle; Alfred seemed to be rubbing his face with his hands. When he stopped, he breathed deeply. “Yeah. Of course. God, yes.”

Arthur fell back on his pillows, his heart thumping like it was knocking for release from his ribcage. “G-good. I’m…I’m glad. Let’s set a date tomorrow. Good night, Alfred.”

“Yeah! Sure! Uh…” Alfred laughed incredulously to himself. “That’ll be awesome. Tomorrow. Night, Art!”

_Well, now you’ve gone and done it. You’ve got a date, but at what price?_

The other half of Arthur’s brain, drunk on the pleasure of what had just happened, didn’t respond, and he fell asleep easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy Arthur are you sure you know what you're doing?
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and for reading!


	11. Happiness

The weather had turned warm and Arthur felt comfortable going for a walk around Britannia wearing only a light jacket. Out of habit more than necessity, he put his hands in his pockets as he walked, humming a light tune. _What a day_ , he thought to himself. _The sun is warm, the birds are chirping, there are daffodils blooming in the park…I daresay this is a day to change lives_.

He scanned the street, using his angelic insight to look at the surfaces of the lives of the people who were walking nearby. Today they were all more or less satisfied with their lots, which was to be expected on such a pleasant afternoon. For once, the complete lack of ideas about how he was to go about earning his wings did not bother Arthur in the least. He’d developed a wicked cough and had endured a low-grade fever last night that quickly dissipated in the morning—all signs pointing to the fact that the Halfway sickness was beginning to worsen. The fever was a particularly dire harbinger of the physical decay about to descend on the angel’s body, but he just could not find it in himself to worry or even care.

Just last night (before the fever) he had gone on his third date with Alfred. They went to see a comedian that was in Britannia for the weekend and, though he tried to maintain his dignity, Arthur couldn’t help but laugh so hard that his diaphragm was sore. Some of the more human jokes had gone over his head, but most were relatable and hilarious. Afterwards, the two walked home, hand in hand, chattering about the differences between Earthly and Heavenly humour.

How had Arthur ever turned Alfred down for a second date? It seemed so obvious, so natural to be with him now…like suddenly being able to take a deep breath after a bout of bronchitis you didn’t know you had. It was like sticking your head out the door on the first warm day after a long winter…not that he’d ever experienced that first hand in season-less Heaven. It was still just barely chilly here in Britannia, but that “spring feeling” seemed to be a common trope in the Halfway novels he’d read.

Early tulips were poking through the soil in planters along the sidewalk and Arthur admired their loveliness as he walked. Truth be told, though, flowers in Heaven were far prettier than those of Earth, and flowers from Hell were more beautiful than both (when they didn’t kill you). A wave of homesickness swept through the angel and he swallowed hard, squashing the feeling.

As a distraction, he lifted his eyes and scanned the passersby again. Here was a woman involved in a Ponzi scheme…better stay away from her or Alfred would probably get caught up in it like an idiot. Over there was a man whose only ambition in life was to have three dogs and a garden. He was too happy to need change in his life. Arthur continued looking, then did a double take as his eyes swept over a tall man jaunting down the way in a feather-down coat.

What the…

What was a demon doing here?

Well, this _was_ demonkind’s favorite season to visit Earth, so Arthur guessed it made sense that one would be vacationing now. Not wanting to draw attention and possible chattiness to himself, he ducked and looked away, but it was too late; the demon had spotted or sensed him already. The demon was, of course, Skinwalking in the guise of an attractive man with longish blonde hair and heavily lidded black eyes so as to avoid terrorizing the humans with his true demonic form. His demonic senses were still working, however, so when he caught Arthur’s scent, his nostrils flared and his head swiveled to lock on to the angel’s location.

There was no escaping it now, so Arthur straightened and put on a friendly smile. A few long strides, then the demon reached out, grabbed the angel’s hand, and planted a kiss on it. “Ah, what luck!” He said in a smooth voice accented with some Northern Hellish lilt. “I come to this city to enjoy the weather and then I have the absolute pleasure of running into a delicate flower from the Outer Shell. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Still holding his hand, he drew Arthur closer in.

Arthur stiffened and wriggled his way free. “Yes, yes, well met I’m sure. Are you here on holiday?”

“Of course,” the demon replied, readjusting his coat fussily. “’ell is so ‘ot this time of year…I thought I’d see a cooler climate for a month or two. What about you? Forgive my boldness, but I’ve never seen a wingless angel outside of ‘eaven. I was under the impression that was frowned upon.”

“Ah. Well. It’s a bit of a long story, I’m afraid.” Arthur frowned. Even demons noticed his winglessness.

The demon successfully made a swift grab for Arthur’s hand again. “I ‘ave lots of time! Come, sit with me and regale me with your tale! I’ll buy you a drink.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“I’m going to have to decline, I’m afraid,” Arthur replied. “My boyfriend wouldn’t be too chuffed with me going for drinks with strange men.” The word _boyfriend_ still sounded foreign in his mouth. When he said it, he could feel a tingle in his lips.

“Alas!” the demon dramatically threw an arm over his eyes. “All of ze most beautiful flowers already ‘ave trellises! At least tell me your name.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk. “Arthur Kirkland.”

“And I am Francis Bonnefoy, tri-world culture enthusiast and shadow wine connoisseur. As I said before, I’m ‘ere on ‘oliday with a few friends from ‘ell. You might see them around…they aren’t very good at Skinwalking yet…” He looked around suspiciously.

Francis himself was obviously proficient in the art of Skinwalking—to the untrained eye he appeared to be a fashionable fellow of maybe 27. If you knew what you were looking for, though, you would notice that his irises were a disconcerting matte black and his pupils had a bloody tinge. The fact that Francis was bundled up on a pleasant spring day was another giveaway—due to Hell’s warmer climate, demons tended to catch chill on Earth or in Heaven. Less skilled demons wore gloves, boots, or even bandages to simultaneously keep themselves warm while covering any demonic body parts not transfigured with Skinwalking magic.

In their natural forms, demons are truly the terrifying monsters of humans’ ancient legends. Though not usually described as graceful, they are taller and lither of limb than humans or especially angels, who tend to be petite. As with angels, their skin is prone to extreme paleness due to the lack of exposure to the sun. Instead of pink, though, their skin is faintly purple because their blood is a dark violet. Bony, wickedly curved claws protrude from their wrists, forearms, and the inside of their knees so they can climb the craggy walls of Hell to reach their lofty homes.

In fact, most demonic anatomy is evolved for climbing, like the thin, scaly, prehensile tails and opposable big toes they have for grasping plant life trailing up the cliffs. Thousands of years ago, demonkind had the ability to fly, but it disappeared with the advent of Skinwalking. Nowadays, all that remains is a useless pair of thin, black, batty wings, useless for everything but show.

Whereas angels’ social statuses are told in gold and silver chainlike lettering crisscrossing their wings, demons’ statuses are told in swirling red tattoos spanning their faces, arms, chests, and sometimes legs. Though they look like monsters, they are really more like colorful, clawed pranksters. Warm pools abound in Hell and a common demonic pastime is having splash wars in the surprisingly clear water.

In Arthur’s opinion, angels were far scarier than demons, but also more sensible. Demons had fun in almost everything they did. Angels were so sterile…what with all the weird glowing, the uniformity of dress, and the strict policing of emotion.

If Francis’ friends weren’t skilled at Skinwalking, there was no telling how garish they looked. Demons had never been keen on subtlety. Arthur looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Turning his attention back to Francis, he noticed that the demon was still eyeing him lecherously. _Demons. Stubborn as they come._ “Well, please enjoy your stay here. There’s a lovely park downtown if you want to take a stroll. Tell your friends to try not to scare the humans, if you please.”

Francis ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll pass the message along, but, sadly, there really is no ‘elp for them. Do you, perhaps, live ‘ere?”

“I do,” Arthur replied reluctantly, unhappy to give such information away but unwilling to lie.

“Excellent. Promise me that I can introduce you to my friends before I go ‘ome and I shall bid you adieu. They have never met one from the Outer Shell and would be delighted to see you! Do I ‘ave your word?”

Arthur grimaced. _I’m not a bloody zoo exhibit and it’s not the ‘Outer Shell.’_ Demons had long ago decided that being referred to as the “Lower Ones” was insulting and had started a campaign to change the Dimensions’ nicknames from the Higher, Middle and Lower worlds to Outer, Middle, and Inner Shells. The dimensions were, after all, arranged like the layers on an onion, with Hell being the globe-shaped center and Earth and Heaven concentric outer crusts. Angels, naturally, thought the wordplay was nonsense and refused to use the new system. “Yes, fine. As long as they behave themselves.”

“No promises ‘ere. Goodbye for now, Arthur!” After flirtatiously leaving a slow, fluttering wink, Francis walked away, swishing his hips as he went.

Demons were infuriating. Arthur rolled his eyes and made sure to walk in the opposite direction. Once he lost sight of Francis, he readjusted his route to take him to the Cedar Wood Grill. As Vash had said earlier, after suspiciously asking Arthur why he was at the door inquiring, Lili was working today and would be getting off around this time. The angel entered the restaurant to find the girl in question writing the specials on the board for the dinner crowd. “Lili!” He called. “Are you almost finished?”

She turned her head, nodded happily, and held up a finger, telling him to wait. He settled himself in the waiting room until she, clutching her purse, pulled him to the door. “I’m so glad you came to see me! Can you walk home with me?”

“Absolutely. How was work?”

“Tiring, but productive. Sometimes people can be so rude…these two men came in today…well; I think they were men, anyway. One had on a pink plaid skirt and a shirt with a unicorn on it and was about as androgynous as they come…but I think I heard the other one say his name was Feliks, so… Anyway, they came in and were dreadfully noisy and disruptive. They wanted everything on the menu described to them, even simple things like sandwiches and soft drinks! They must be from a different country…or a different planet!” She laughed at the thought.

Arthur thought back to what Francis had said about his friends’ lack of skill at blending in and pressed his lips together. “How odd.”

“It really was. One of them had his leg bandaged up all funny, like he had some strange growth underneath. I was a little uncomfortable, to tell the truth. I felt guilty afterwards, to be scared of someone’s deformity like that. I hope I didn’t hurt their feelings.”

Arthur snorted. “I’m sure they’re fine.” Knowing demons, they didn’t even notice. “I hope tomorrow will be better for you.”

“Thank you. Please tell me, though, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this walk home?”

“Ah, well…” The angel turned his face to hide the stupid grin that stretched across it. “I, er, wanted to update you on the whole…Alfred business.”

Lili’s green eyes brightened with interest. “Yes?”

“I…I asked him out! I told him I was wrong the first time and asked him to go out with me again!”

“And he said…?”

“He said yes!” Arthur couldn’t conceal his embarrassed glee this time. “I never thought I’d have a boyfriend…let alone one as thickheaded as Alfred…but I…I really do think I’m…well, happy.”

Lili squealed, shaking her head to make her blonde hair dance. “I’m so glad for you! I knew you would make the right decision!”

“I…thank you for helping me think it through.”

“Of course.” She replied. “I’m glad I could be of assistance. How have your new and improved dates gone?” Arthur chattered about them for a few minutes as they walked until she paused to snap her fingers. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but I just remembered something I wanted to tell you! I went and talked to Kaoru at the dojo like you suggested and he let me try a month of classes for free! Isn’t that nice of him? I think he’s great!”

“That’s splendid! He’s a fine fellow. Eh? What’s this silly look on your face? He hasn’t been giving you the eyes, has he?”

Lili covered her face with her hands. “Maybe.” Widening a gap between her fingers, she looked beseechingly at Arthur. “Don’t tell Big Brother, please!”

“Hmm. It’ll be our secret. Tell me if he does anything ungentlemanly, though, and I’ll rough him up for you.”

The small blonde girl giggled and suddenly twirled around in the middle of the sidewalk. “Life is good today, isn’t it?”

Arthur looked up at the blue sky and smiled. “It truly is.”

Seeing that they were nearly at the apartment building, Lili stopped and lurched toward the angel, grabbing him around the waist in a hug. “You’re with Alfred, I’m learning high kicks with Kaoru, Big Brother has no idea…I’m glad we became friends. Thanks for motivating me to break out of the rut I was in.”

Now feeling unusually full in the heart, Arthur patted her head both awkwardly and affectionately. “S-sure. I’m…I’m glad we’re friends, also.”

At that moment, a window flew open above their heads and a blonde head poked out. “ARTHUR! GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY SISTER!”

Recognizing Vash’s voice, Lili immediately backed away from Arthur and made toward the front door. “I’ll see you later, Arthur! Don’t worry about Big Brother, I’ll calm him down!”

Taking that as his cue to exit, Arthur hurried down the sidewalk and away from the window through which Vash was watching him. Even the slight scare couldn’t down his spirits, though. _Friends_ , he thought, huffing from the exertion. _I’ve made friends here._ Shelly was his only friend for so long…friendship didn’t come so easily in Heaven. These humans were different, though; they were so much more willing to open themselves to others.

_I wish I could stay here forever_.

He knew he couldn’t.

oOoOo

The next day, Feliciano and Arthur were, as usual, sitting at the Juice Bar in the gym, doing anything other than exercising. The groom-to-be had brought along a stack of wedding catalogues to peruse and was circling pictures of decorations excitedly with a purple pen. “Look at this weird string of lights! Doesn’t that look just like fireflies suspended in midair? Do you think Ludwig would like those?”

Truthfully, Arthur didn’t think Ludwig would give a flying fairy’s arse, and he said as much to Feliciano, who laughed. “Ah, no, you’re wrong! Ludwig really does take notice, even about the little things! That’s why I have to pay attention!”

“Oh? I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Yeah! He’s kind of like Roma in that way, I guess. Both of them are pretty sensitive but aren’t any good at showing it.” He flipped a page in his wedding catalogue and gasped. “Oh no! They’re selling live butterflies you can release at the reception…poor butterflies…”

Arthur looked over his shoulder and frowned. Shelly would be hopping mad if she saw how most animals were treated here on Earth. His mind drifted back to what Feliciano had said earlier, and he frowned. “What do you mean, Romano is sensitive? He doesn’t seem very sensitive to me. He’s sort of…” _Wild._ “Aggressive, you could say.”

Lowering his magazine, Feliciano looked sadly up at Arthur. “That’s just…I think that’s just his way of covering his feelings up. Because he is technically the older twin, he was influenced a lot more by our mother’s side of the family…they are part of the Mafia in Italy, you know. They told him that real men are tough and cold and cruel…all they traits they value. I was given over to the teachings of my father’s side. They taught me that manhood is less about what kind of power you have and more about how you treat others.”

Arthur blinked at Feliciano. “Oh.” _That certainly explains a lot._ “Wait, you two are twins?”

“Of course! I call him my big brother because he’s always acted like one to me. Don’t tell Roma I told you this!”

“I won’t. You have my word.”

“I think all the stuff Roma saw in his training with the Mafia messed with his heart. He was always a little contrary, but now he’s…I don’t know. Sad.” The Italian man himself looked grieved by the admission. “This whole stuff with the wedding has really set him off and I’m not sure why. I know he’s not very good friends with Ludwig, but I thought he’d be happier for me…sometimes I think it’s my fault…if I had only tried to talk the family into letting me go train with Mother sometimes instead of Roma, he wouldn’t have had to take all the burden onto himself…”

Arthur laid a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for something that happened when you were a child.”

A stray tear popped out of Feliciano’s eye and he scrubbed at it hurriedly. “You’re right, I know! B-but poor Roma! I think maybe he’s jealous that I’m getting married, and a little scared, too. He doesn’t like change. He’s all worked up and he’s taking it out on Antonio.”

“I _did_ notice that.”

“I don’t know why he’d do that, though. He really likes Antonio--I know it! I’m his twin brother. I know how to read him. He likes him—maybe more than even I know.”

The worker at the Juice Bar placed a blackberry smoothie in front of Arthur, who picked it up and sipped at it thoughtfully. “After your engagement party, I walked home with Emma and she said some interesting things about Romano.” _Technically I promised not to tell anyone this. Oh well. This is for the sake of the big picture._ He peeked over at his companion, whose interest had been piqued. “She said…and this is supposed to be secret, alright? She said that Antonio has feelings for Romano but won’t tell him because he’s afraid of how he’ll react. She was mad that Romano treats him the way he does.”

Feliciano’s mouth dropped open a little and his eyes widened. “Honest? She said that?”

“She did.”

This revelation left the Italian thunderstruck and he squinted, seemingly puzzling something over in his head. After a minute or two of utter confusion, he shook his head. “Antonio likes Roma? But everyone was so sure he was with Emma!” Arthur shook his head and Feliciano gasped a little. “Wait, when I say everyone thought he was dating Emma, I mean _everyone_ —me, Ludwig, Gilbert, and Roma, too! This actually makes a lot of sense! If Roma has feelings for Antonio but perceives himself as already being rejected, that would explain why he’s so mean to him.”

“He’s mean to Antonio because he _likes_ him? Isn’t that primary school behavior?”

Feliciano shrugged. “I can vouch for Roma’s good heart, not his maturity level.”

“Why hasn’t he asked Antonio for the truth about Emma? Why hasn’t he told him how he feels?”

“He hasn’t said anything and he won’t say anything because he’s a coward with his feelings. He’d be too scared of being turned down. He doesn’t know what to do with his own emotions.”

Arthur nursed his smoothie and ruminated. “If Romano is too stubborn to tell Antonio, maybe we could get Antonio to admit how he feels to Romano first.”

“Hmmm. Maybe.”

At that moment, Ludwig walked up behind his fiancé and kissed the top of his head. “Are you having a good conversation, Feli?”

Feliciano immediately brightened up and nodded. “We sure are! We’re talking about Roma!” Ludwig’s face darkened a bit in response to the older Italian twin’s name, but Feliciano took no notice. “Don’t you think he’s improved a lot in his attitude toward you since we moved in?”

The burly blonde man narrowed his eyes. “Improved, you say? How so?”

“He used to be mean to you all the time and now he’s only mean to you _most_ of the time!” Feliciano beamed with pride.

Ludwig shot a tired look at Arthur, who raised his eyebrows. “Maybe ‘improved’ is too strong a word.”

After a few more minutes’ discussion on the matter, Feliciano and Ludwig bid goodbye to the angel and departed, leaving him alone at the counter. So this was his next mission, hey? He needed to figure out how to get Romano Vargas and Antonio Carriedo to be honest with each other. How hard could that possibly be? He gulped the rest of his smoothie and looked over to where his friends were working out, but stopped and flushed when Alfred caught his eye and threw a wink his way.

Right beside him, however, Kiku was kneeling on a mat. He, too, made eye contact with Arthur, but in a decidedly colder manner. Suddenly uncomfortable, the angel turned back around to the counter and sighed. Guilt was another feeling to add to his growing index of human emotions.

oOoOo

A combination of streetlamp light and cloud cover hid the stars that night as Alfred and Arthur walked home hand in hand. They had tried out a new Greek restaurant and, though Arthur had loved it, Alfred was less than impressed. “I dunno, man. Who even eats lamb? I don’t like straying too far from the holy meat trinity.”

“The holy meat trinity? What the hell is that?”

Alfred grinned. “Pork, beef, and chicken, dude! The most American of meats! Turkey can sneak in, but only on Thanksgiving. Weird meats like duck and lamb are definitely out.”

Arthur had to gape at his boyfriend for a moment to comprehend his lunacy. “We’re not in the States! People eat many varied foods. Step out of your little mental box and taste the world. Or, if it bothers you that much, you can always be a vegetarian like us angels.”

Horror at the idea spread across Alfred’s face. “That’s a terrible thought. I don’t know you live without hamburgers. You should try one.”

“I already did, you miserable git. You practically force-fed me one when we went shopping the first time. I was sick for days afterward!

“Oh, sorry. But you looked like you liked it!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Clearly you need to work on your facial expression recognition. Oh, by the way, I meant to tell you about this conversation I had with Feli this morning.” He quickly recounted all that he’d learned about Romano. “I think this is going to be my next major Change. If I play my cards correctly, I might even squeeze two out of it. That would completely finish my major Change requirements and I’d just be left with the easier, minor ones.” _And my flapstone project…I have more left than I thought I did._

Worry crept into his mind and he shivered, pulling his arms close into his body and grimacing. His joints had been aching all day and the tightness in his chest had only increased. Staying strong against the deterioration of his body due to the Halfway sickness was getting more taxing by the day. When one symptom would disappear, another would rise to take its place.

Alfred noticed the angel’s sudden drop in mood and stopped in the pool of light under a street lamp. Startled, Arthur looked up to find Alfred’s uncharacteristically serious face hovering above his own. Panic at the proximity rose in his head and he opened his mouth to stutter out something tart, but was stopped by a warm hand tilting his chin upwards and soft lips pressing against his own. Whether his heart stopped or was beating so fast the beats were indistinguishable from one another he didn’t know; all he knew how to do in the moment was to lean closer into the American’s chest and, fumbling a bit, slide a hand down the side of his face to rest it against his cheek.

Alfred ended the kiss first, pulled back, and grinned down at his now brain dead boyfriend. “Hey. Don’t worry. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it, ok? You’re gonna get your wings and everything is gonna turn out exactly like it’s supposed to. We’re gonna take care of each other—that’s what relationships are for!”

Words refused to spill from Arthur’s mouth, but he nodded. Here was another emotion to add to his list…though he didn’t have a name for this one.

oOoOo

That night, after returning home, Arthur lay still in bed, trying to calm himself down enough to drift off to sleep. His whole body was still tingling from the kiss and, whenever he would settle down a bit, his mind would replay the scene and a thrill would run down his spine again. He looked over to where Alfred was lying in the bed across the room, but couldn't see well enough in the dark to make out his form.

After a while he couldn’t stand it anymore, so he rose, crossed the room, and kneeled on Alfred’s bed. The American startled awake, but before he could ask what was going on, Arthur leaned in and blindly searched for his lips by feel. He found them and, unskilled at the art of kissing, gently repeated the kiss from earlier in the night. Pulling Arthur onto his lap, Alfred sat up against the wall and enthusiastically returned the kiss. The angel’s hand twisted in the other’s hair, reveling in its silkiness. The kiss intensified until Alfred leaned back, a nervous expression just visible in the darkness.

“What?” Arthur asked, worried.

“You’re an angel from Heaven. I’m human.”

Fear constricted Arthur’s heart. Could Alfred not love him because they were different races? “So?”

“Is this…is this a sin?”

The tension released all at once and Arthur laughed, leaning in to kiss Alfred again. “No,” he murmured. “There’s no such thing, you silly human.”

Alfred also relaxed. “Good. Though I’d gladly go to Hell for you.”

“That’s not saying much, you know. Hell’s a pretty nice place, all things considered.”

Alfred ogled Arthur for a moment, then broke out laughing. “You say the weirdest things. I’m so glad I met you.”

Happiness bubbled up in Arthur’s heart and he laughed too, unable to stem the tide of joy. “Now kiss me, sin or not.” And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ Warm_Latte: Right? Hashtag give love a chance. Thank you for reading and commenting!


	12. Slip of the Forked Tongue

Arthur awoke slowly, deliciously, and then with a start when he found himself nose-to-nose with a smiling face from which twinkled bright blue eyes. He jerked backwards out of reflex, but relaxed when the events from last night came rushing back. So this was what it felt like to…wake up in someone’s arms. It was warm and wonderful. Even so, the weight of Alfred’s merry eyes was too much for the angel to bear so early in the morning and he frowned, looking away. “Stop staring at me, you git. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Did you sleep well?” Alfred asked, ignoring the demand.

“I…fairly well, yes.” It was the best sleep he’d ever had in his life. “And you?”

“Like a log, bro!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You say the barmiest things. Log’s don’t sleep.”

Alfred gasped. “What? Logs in Heaven don’t sleep? They sure do on Earth.”

“Wh—no they don’t. Right? They’re plants. Inanimate. Right?” Racking his brain, Arthur tried to think of all of the Earth biology lessons he’d taken. Did he miss the slide that said plants on Earth have circadian rhythms? Was this something everyone knew? Did Alfred think he was an idiot?

The American remained stony-faced. “Dude. Everyone knows logs sleep. It’s a common fact. It’s like woodchucks. They can’t chuck wood, but how much wood they _would_ chuck if they could chuck wood is a philosophical question debated in the really fancy colleges like Oxford and Harvard.”

Arthur’s mouth gaped. Woodchucks?? Where had he been during these important lessons? “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. If you ever want to sound smart, just go up to someone and ask how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. Their minds will be totally blown.”

“Really?” Arthur scratched his neck. “I’m glad I know you, Alfred. You teach me such valuable things.” At these words, Alfred’s grin became uneasy, but he said nothing. After stretching, Arthur swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up. “Time to get to work.”

Alfred frowned, then reached out and grabbed the angel’s hand. “Do you have to go right now?”

Arthur’s resolve melted at the sight of the other’s pleading blue eyes, but a sudden pang through his head solidified his decision again. “Y-yes,” he said, bringing a hand to his head and rubbing the part that was most painful. “I need to talk to Antonio about something important.”

“Like what?” Alfred propped his head up on his fist and watched his boyfriend button up a clean white shirt.

“Don’t ask; I’m not supposed to tell. And stop staring!” Arthur slipped a button in the wrong hole and had to re-do it, fully conscious of Alfred’s eyes upon him.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t tell anyone else. Promise.” Arthur eyed him warily and he stuck his lip out in a pout. “I won’t! You can trust me!”

Against his better judgment, Arthur sighed and spoke. “I have to somehow get Antonio or Romano to publicly admit their feelings for each other. I’m not worried about Antonio, but Romano’s a problem and you know it.” He pulled on a pair of slacks, and then found a matching belt in a drawer.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Alfred laughed derisively. “I doubt the CIA could get a confession out of Romano. He’s like a bomb inside a cactus inside a bear trap inside a box made of poisonous thorns. I don’t get Antonio at all if _that’s_ who he chose to get all mushy over.” 

Now tying his shoes, Arthur shrugged. “I have to try. Do you know where Antonio’s store is? Emma told me Romano works at his music store.”

“Oh, it’s right next to Emma’s bakery. Do you remember where that is? I can come with you if you want.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I should go alone. Thank you for the offer, regardless.” Fully dressed, the angel went for the door, balked, and then turned back. “I’ll see you later, then?”

Alfred grinned, his happiness filling the room like a warm light. “Duh.”

Arthur rocked back and forth on his toes for a moment before approaching Alfred and planting a hesitant kiss on his lips. Alfred took hold of Arthur’s shirt to pull him back into another kiss, but the angel slapped his hand lightly away. “I _will_ see you later.” Ignoring his boyfriend’s groans, Arthur left the room.

Passing through the kitchen, he noticed that Kiku was sitting at the table, listlessly staring at the grain of the wood, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea that, judging by the lack of steam, had long since gone cold. He didn’t raise his head when Arthur walked past, only continued to gaze downward. The guilt that seeped back into Arthur’s veins didn’t help his headache and he ducked his head and continued out the door.

oOoOo

True to the tales, Antonio had bought the lot two doors down from Emma’s little bakery and had opened a moderately sized store that peddled all sorts of instruments and music paraphernalia. When the shop was empty or someone else was watching the front desk, he would sit on the sidewalk in front of the door and play the accordion to attract customers. It often worked and, after selling them something, Antonio would direct them to Emma’s place and recommend the churros. In return, Emma brought Antonio sweets whenever he wanted. She would often bring a pair of cannoli for Romano to enjoy, but he wouldn’t eat them in her presence.

Romano took classes at the local university part time and spent much of the rest of his time giving lessons in various stringed instruments in the back of Antonio’s shop. He was a natural at the guitar, the mandolin, the violin, and the harp and, though he wouldn’t admit it, loved music because of the way it calmed whatever demons he harbored. Within the cry and gentle hum of the vibration amplified and modified by the instrument’s body, there was a husky, sweet, sad nostalgia that brought bittersweet solace.

Antonio bragged about his young employee, but Romano only flushed, scowled, and muttered vague threats. The Italian refused to perform public concerts, but every once in a while he would play the guitar for Antonio when the two were alone in the evenings. To encourage the activity, Antonio would busy himself and pretend not to listen, but his efforts were short lived and he inevitably ended up leaning against the counter with eyes closed, soaking in the sound. Sometimes Romano would allow this for a few minutes, but he always eventually became embarrassed and put his guitar away, grumbling insults at his bemused boss.

On days when Emma came to the music store after her bakery had closed for the day, Romano would shut himself in a back room and only emerge after Antonio cajoled, pleaded, and finally yelled at him to come out and finish his work. Emma had no idea what to make of the poisonous way the young Italian treated her. Any effort at conversation she made towards him was met with, at best, a stony silence or, at worst, withering scorn. Frustration had driven her to say things to Romano that she later regretted, but after some intervention by Antonio, she learned to make a habit of shutting her mouth as far as Romano was concerned. In this way, she earned a fragile peace amongst the three.

This day, however, when Arthur stepped into the store, there was no peace to be found, fragile or otherwise. Romano and Emma were aimed at one another across the room, faces scarlet and creased with anger. Antonio sat on a chair in the middle, cradling his head in one hand. “—respect Antonio? Do you even care about him?” Emma yelled, arms out in a questioning stance.

“You seem to fucking care enough for both of us.” Romano shot back. “Piss off. As if you know anything about how I feel. You--” He noticed Arthur and cut himself off, consciously unclenching his fists and flouncing into a back room. Emma screamed quietly and turned away from the direction in which Romano had exited.

“Ah…I…I’m sorry. Shall I come back later?” Arthur asked awkwardly, partially turning as if to leave.

“No, no, please,” Emma responded, a hand out to stop him. “It’s fine. This is my fault. I—god, Tonio, I’m sorry. I’m gonna go. I’ll see you later.” Flustered, she grabbed a purse and jacket off the counter and pushed past Arthur, leaving the store.

Antonio had slowly risen from his seat and was rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. “Arthur, amigo, welcome! Sorry you had to see that.” A somewhat strained smile fixed itself into place on his tan face.

Still uncertain, Arthur approached him and twiddled his thumbs. “I found your shop using directions from Alfred. It’s a swell place.”

Antonio’s smile loosened and became more genuine. “Thanks! It’s my home away from home, you know? How’s Alfred? I heard you two were an item now.”

“Yes, we…” Arthur flushed. “He’s great. Absolutely great.” Willing himself not to think about last night, he cleared his throat and continued. “I was wondering if you gave guitar lessons, actually. I’ve always wanted to learn to play an instrument.”

“Guitar lessons? Sure! We do those! I, uh, hah, actually Romano’s the one who does those. He’s…I’ll go talk to him. He usually charges around fifteen dollars a half hour. Is that reasonable to you? I’ll throw in a free session in apology for the scene today.”

Arthur waved his hand apologetically. “That’s fine and you don’t need to do anything for me. It’s not a problem.”

“No, please, please, let me make it up to you.” Antonio headed for the back room. “Wait here and I’ll get the master himself.”

He knocked on the door of the room into which Romano had disappeared and a few words were exchanged. After a minute, the man in question opened the door and looked into the room. Seeing Arthur again, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strode towards him. “You want to learn guitar?” He asked. Arthur nodded in response. “Do you have a guitar of your own or do you need to rent one?”

“Al has one, actually. I’m going to use his.”

Romano shrugged. “How many times a week do you want to meet?” From his pocket he produced a small agenda and flipped through the pages. “I can do any day except weekends and Wednesdays.”

“How about Tuesdays and Thursdays? One o’clock?”

“Can’t do one, but I can do two o’clock.” Romano replied.

“Two will work just as well.”

“Done.” Romano scribbled in his schedule and then replaced it in his pocket. “We’ll start tomorrow.” He turned to Antonio. “I’m leaving.”

“Yes, you can leave for the day.” Antonio said, nodding.

Romano rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t asking your permission, asshole, I was telling you.”

Antonio groaned. “If I fired you, Roma, you could never get another job with your shitty attitude. Don’t make me fire you.”

Romano looked silently at the Spaniard, his large, soft brown eyes a sharp, uncomfortable contrast to his foul demeanor. He blinked twice and then whirled around, returning to the back room. Antonio watched him for a second and sighed. He then led Arthur to the counter at the front of the store. “Do you want to prepay for a few lessons or pay as you go?”

“I’ll pay for three now.” As he pulled out his wallet, Arthur heard the bell above the front door jingle and knew Romano had left. He handed his card to Antonio and fiddled nervously with the leather of the money pouch. “Listen…” _This is probably a bad idea._ “I, er, heard that you…sort of…fancy your employee there.”

Antonio’s head snapped up and his mouth dropped open. “Who told you that?”

“Er…” Arthur quailed at the fire in Antonio’s eyes. “Feliciano said he’s suspected it.” He chose the kind Italian to pin the blame on because no one could be very angry at his innocent face.

As expected, the anger blunted to mild annoyance. “I see,” Antonio replied, sighing. “Feli’s a sharp man. Look, I’m not going to deny it, but my feelings are neither here nor there.”

Arthur chewed his cheek, wondering how far he could push this. He decided to continue using Feliciano as a shield. “Feli asked me to see if I could find out what’s going on with Romano as, you know, a third party. That’s actually why I’m taking the lessons.”

“You might as well not waste your time if that’s your aim,” Antonio said, laughing in a tired way. “I’d be shocked if Romano didn’t throw you out as soon as you try to bring the subject up.”

_Can he do that?_ Arthur wondered, feeling nervous now. “Feli really wanted me to try, though.” _I have to try. Effort leads to change_. “I might as well give it a go.”

Antonio shook his head. “Suit yourself.”

“Out of curiosity…does he have something against Emma or was today’s fight a one time deal?”

Sighing again, Antonio handed Arthur’s card back. “Who knows? They used to get along and he slowly got worse and worse and now they’re always on the edge of war. I can keep Emma from doing too much damage, but Romano is impossible.”

Arthur nodded and pressed his lips together. “Maybe I’ll get something out of him and maybe I won’t. I’ll let you know either way.”

Antonio studied Arthur’s face and then smiled. “I’ll be curious, so keep me updated. See you around, amigo.”

Leaving the store, Arthur closed the glass door behind him and relaxed a little. The groundwork was laid. His relief was shattered, however, when a tall figure appeared at his side and swooped in like a bat, taking Arthur’s hand in its own. “ _Mon amie_ ,” It crooned. “Finally, I found you again.”

Arthur, who had shrieked when he was grabbed, shoved the intruder away. “Don’t scare people like that, you fool!”

The figure was Francis, who smirked, revealing teeth more pointed than any true human’s. “My apologies. Let me make it up to you with lunch.”

“You’re not sorry,” Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. “And no, I won’t have lunch with you. Demons are such nuisances. Why aren’t you off cavorting around Earth on your holiday?”

“I ‘ave been. I cavorted around all day and found the most charming little café. Come with me and let’s try the pastries together.”

“I—”

“You _promised._ ”

Arthur paused. “I did not! When did I do that?”

“You promised you would meet my friends. I’ll bring them to lunch.”

_Oh bother_. “Fine,” Arthur sighed, checking the time on his watch. “A quick bite and a chat and then I’m leaving.”

Francis made a contented sound. “Shall we be off, zen?” He offered his arm, but it was coldly rebuffed. Undaunted, he led the way.

Arthur followed, simultaneously annoyed and interested. _I hope no one sees me with this fool_.

oOoOo 

“So, like, if you’re an angel, where are your, like, wings?”

Arthur glared grumpily at the demon, one of Francis’ friends, who was seated across from him in the café. _This must be the androgynous character Lili had mentioned_ , he thought to himself, studying the demon’s face for clues as to its gender. He or she had shoulder-length blonde hair, heavily lidded black eyes, and a face that looked perpetually dazed. “Feliks! It’s rude to ask about personal things like that!” Francis’ other friend, Toris, chastised. “Sorry about him; it’s his first time outside of the Inner Shell. He doesn’t mean to cause offense.”

_‘He.’ Good to know._ “It’s fine,” Arthur replied. “I don’t have my wings yet, but I’m working on them now.”

“That’s so totally weird! Demons are, like, _born_ with their wings, you know? I thought it would be, like, the same for angels.” Feliks toyed with the blue pleated skirt he wore over a pair of cream-colored tights. “You can, like, totally pull off the no-wings look, though, so don’t worry!”

“Thanks. I was losing sleep over it.” Arthur said sarcastically.

Toris leaned forward and studied the angel’s face. “You have really nice skin. Do you do anything special to it?”

Arthur looked away, embarrassed at the intense attention. “I…er. I…take showers?”

“What’s it like in Heaven?” Feliks asked, leaning his head on the back of his hand.

“It’s, er…sort of…warm, I suppose, and sometimes we have starfalls that--”

Feliks gasped dramatically. “It’s _warm_? Oh my _god_ why do all the other races get all the luck? It is, like, _so_ hot in Hell right now. Am I right or am I right, Toris?”

Toris’ eyes darted about nervously. “Keep it down! You’re going to scare the humans!”

“Humans don’t notice anything!” Feliks replied, waving his friend’s words away with a manicured hand, despite the fact that half the restaurant was staring at him. “It is _so hot_ where we’re from this half of the celesphere. And then, like, two provinces away it’s, like, negative twelve degrees.”

“All of a sudden?”

“Yeah, like, you can stand in the middle with one side of you sweating your claws off and, like, icicles forming on your other side.” He sighed dramatically. “That’s why you have such nice skin. I don't know how anyone can be expected to maintain a skincare regimen in Hell.”

Arthur blinked at him, unable to find a proper response. At his side, Francis sipped a tall glass of wine and chuckled. “I _told_ you zey would be delighted to meet you,” He said, winking at the angel.

On the other side, Toris smiled gently. “This is actually my second time leaving the Inner Shell. I spent a week in Vietnam once as a study abroad program after I learned the basics of Skinwalking.”

“You’ve been more places than I have,” Arthur commented, feeling a bit envious. “How did you find it? Was it pleasant?”

“I did! I love traveling. The music of different countries is the best part, I think.”

“ _I_ like the fashion, personally,” Feliks interjected. “I think we should bring these street styles back home. Socks are my favorite! Don’t these tights make my legs look shapely?”

Trying to imagine demons in hell wearing bobby socks as they crawled up and down the cliff sides almost brought tears to Arthur’s eyes as he tried not to laugh. What an idea. Almost as ridiculous as angels strutting about in the panda costume Yao made Im-Yung wear to advertise outside of his soon-to-open Snack Shack. Under the table, Toris shuffled his legs about nervously. “I still feel like I stand out everywhere I go…like the humans know I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I think you blend in well,” Arthur complimented him, trying not to pay attention to the one at the table that now blowing his nose noisily into an embroidered handkerchief. “Have you been studying Skinwalking long?”

“I’m getting a Dominion in it, actually!” Toris replied brightly.

Arthur made a face, trying to remember back to his demonic culture classes. “That’s…sort of like a Principality in Heaven, or a human Master’s degree, correct?”

“Precisely!” Toris was thrilled that he understood. “I have to make at least four more trips to the Middle Shell and visit all the continents in order to graduate. I also have to finish my thesis on earlobes…”

“Earlobes?”

As if he’d switched into a studious mode, the brunette sat taller. “Earlobes among humans are something commonly overlooked by Skinwalkers due to their lack of homologous structures. Demons have aural pits instead of cartilaginous ears, but to neglect the earlobes while Skinwalking is to neglect the cultural and biological significance behind the lobes themselves. For instance, should one’s earlobes be decorated or undecorated? Some cultures have both sexes pierce their ears while other cultures find the piercing of--”

Feliks cut him off with a pained expression like he’d heard this hundreds of times before. “Why doesn’t everyone just, like, do what they want with them? Male, female, powerful, rich—why does it matter so much? If you like to decorate your earlobes you should, like, totally follow your dreams. For instance, yesterday I found these dangly cupcake earrings for, like, a fifth of what they’d be worth in Hell, so I don’t even _need_ dreams anymore.”

Equally pained, Toris began what seemed to be a well-worn explanation. “It’s _culture_ , Feliks. In some places wearing earrings is like not trimming your elbow claws when you visit Sheol.”

The two bickered and Arthur lost the thread of the conversation as it spiraled down into Hellish slang. Frances listened to the racket with a smile. _Demons really do thrive off of chaos, the gits_ , Arthur thought. “There really ought to be someplace demons can go and relax while on holiday, don’t you think?” He smiled painfully, trying not make it obvious that what he really meant was ‘your friends are polluting my quiet air with ruckus and giving me a stomachache’.

Francis sipped his wine again and considered the idea. “I find it charming to be able to sup amongst ze ‘umans. Zey are so cute wiz zeir colorful eyes and fangless mouths! I zink I’m falling in love more every day.”

“With who?” A punchy voice demanded.

Arthur jerked his head around to see the one person he didn’t want to see standing behind his chair with his arms crossed. “Alfred?” He said, unpleasantly surprised. “Good lands, do give a fellow some warning next time instead of popping up like a bloody jack-in-the-box!”

Still unhappy, Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Who’s falling in love with who here?”

Francis smirked like a cat. “Ah, zis must be ze trellis! And…it’s a ‘uman of all zings! You didn’t tell us zis little secret, Arthur, you naughty boy.”

At the word ‘human’, Feliks and Toris stopped squabbling and turned to stare at the newcomer. Alfred noticed the change in atmosphere and stared back, undaunted. “Who are these dudes, Arthur?”

Arthur breathed deeply and sighed. “You’ve stuck your foot in it now.” He motioned for Alfred to pull up another chair and join them at the table. “Fellows, this is Alfred, my boyfriend. Yes, he is human. No, you can’t touch him. Alfred, this is Francis, Feliks, and Toris. They’re demons visiting Britannia for holiday.”

The color drained from Alfred’s face as he looked between the three grinning demons. “Ack?” He choked, unable to form coherent words.

Arthur clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Now, see, that expression on your big dumb face is why I didn’t tell you about them.”

Where Alfred was terrified out of his floppy basketball shorts, Feliks and Toris were turning themselves inside out with excitement. A human knew about them and was talking to them! What an experience! It was against demonic code to reveal the existence of other Beings to humans, but somehow this one already knew and was _dating_ an angel! “C-can I see your earlobes?” Toris finally blurted, breaking the silence.

Impossibly, the terror on the American’s face increased with those words and he clapped his hands over his ears. Francis poked him in the side, confused. A ridiculous questioning whimper escaped Alfred’s lips and he turned, seeking help from his boyfriend. He looked so pathetic that Arthur couldn’t help snorting a bit. “Oh, dispense with the theatrics. I’ve already told you they won’t hurt you. You’re making yourself look silly.” When nothing changed, he turned to the visitors and shook his head. “My apologies. He’s never met a demon before and he’s a touch scared.”

Toris cocked his head to the side. “We look like humans, don’t we? What’s there to be scared of?”

“You see, many ‘umans are raised on tales of demons doing all sorts of absurd zings, like eating ‘uman young and doing black magic. ‘e probably zinks we’re of zat sort.” Francis explained.

“He’s also a blithering pansy,” Arthur added. “Try watching _The Ring_ without him screeching like a banshee.”

“Eating humans?” Feliks laughed. “Boy, are you gonna be like, totally disappointed. Do you really think I’d hurt anyone and, like, risk messing up these totally rad nails?” He stuck his hand out to show Alfred that they were peppered with sparkles shaped like hamburgers and french fries.

Alfred stared at the nails for a moment and gaped at Feliks again with a different expression. “Those nails are freakin’ sweet, dude!” He finally said, pulling his hands away from his ears.

Feliks twiddled his fingers, happy to be admired. “I _know_ , right? How can you be, like, scared of someone with nails this trendy?”

He had a point. Alfred swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. “Sorry for bugging out on you, dudes. Like Artie said, I’m Alfred. Nice to meet you.”

To his right, Toris was trembling and Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s _Arthur_ , not ‘Artie’. Show Toris your earlobes, Alfred, before he loses his Skinwalk with excitement.”

“My earlobes? Why?”

Even the thought of trying to explain demon theses to Alfred tired Arthur out. “It’s too complicated to explain now. Just do it, please.” He tried to give his boyfriend his best cajoling look.

The look worked and Alfred’s will crumpled like soggy tissue. “Alright, whatever you say. Here they are.” He brushed his hair away and displayed his ears to the others.

Toris’ face gleamed with happiness. “Wow! Unpierced ears with connected earlobes! From what culture do you hail?”

“I’m a red-blooded American!” Alfred said proudly. “Back in America--”

“ _Don’t_ get him started,” Arthur warned Toris, cutting off the beginning of what was surely shaping up to be a long monologue about freedom and heroes.

Francis offered Alfred a croissant, which he took and munched with gusto. “So ‘ow did you become acquainted wiz an angel?”

The American immediately launched into the tale of how he and Arthur met. His memory was surprisingly accurate and complete to the point that he began mentioning details that made Arthur decidedly red in the face. The demons drank in the words like children listening to a new and engrossing fairy tale. Toris sighed dreamily when it was through. “That’s so sweet. I’m so happy for you two.”

“Thanks! I’m pretty happy, too!” Alfred grinned, embarrassed. “Artie’s super cute, huh?”

“You two are both, like, the cutest things ever,” Feliks agreed. “But, like, how are you two gonna deal with the Halfway Sickness?”

Alfred frowned, confused. “The what?”

Arthur lurched forward, trying to signal Feliks to shut up, but the demon either didn’t see or ignored him. “Y’know, the whole ‘angels die after six months on Earth if they don’t go back to Heaven’ thing,” he said.

“…what?” Alfred repeated weakly.

A heavy silence fell over the table and Arthur avoided Alfred’s eyes. Francis looked back and forth between their faces and inhaled sharply. “You ‘adn’t told ‘im yet, ‘ad you?” He asked softly. Arthur shook his head dumbly.

Feliks grimaced apologetically. “Well, this is, like, totally awkward.”

oOoOo

Calendar in hand, Alfred counted and recounted the days as if he could make the number change by force of will alone. “You’ve been here almost four months,” he finally said, refusing to tear his eyes away from the calendar, which had a different archaeological site for every month. “The demon guy said angels die after six months.” He finally looked up. “When were you going to tell me?”

Arthur fiddled with a corner of his paisley coverlet and floundered for an explanation. “It’s…I didn’t know how to tell you…I’m not proud of myself. I’d have said something eventually…”

“When? When you died?”

Feeling his stress levels rising, Arthur scowled. “First of all, I wouldn’t _die_. I’d be resorbed into the Dimension. That’s different.”

“How so?” Alfred asked skeptically.

“It’s like...becoming one with the…the All and…”

Arthur continued to mumble about Dimensions and make vague gestures with his hands until Alfred stopped him. “I don’t care where you go. You won’t be with me and you won’t be the way you are now—which is perfect—so I can’t allow it.”

Blood colored Arthur’s cheeks and he ducked his head and scowled to hide the happiness he felt at hearing those words. As pleased as he was, it didn’t negate the problem at hand. “That’s why I’m trying to finish the Wing Program quickly,” he explained, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t want to be resorbed either.”

“Are you cool once you get your wings?” Alfred asked, pacing back and forth. “I mean, sure you’ll look kinda funny, but will you be able to stay here?”

_No._ _If anything, wings make the Halfway Sickness worse—that’s why there’s no angels here on holiday_. Arthur knew the answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to douse the hope in his perpetually optimistic boyfriend’s face. What good would Alfred’s despair do either of them? He felt wretched for hiding the truth, but he rationalized it to himself as a sort of protection. He’d rather hold all the pain and hopelessness inside of himself than let Alfred have even a crumb. “I don’t know,” he finally answered, avoiding Alfred’s eyes.

Alfred hung his calendar back on the wall and sat down beside his roommate on the bed. “Don’t worry, dude. We’re gonna figure this out,” he promised, wrapping his arms around the angel and pulling him against his chest. “Trust me. I'm a hero!”

“You’re a nutter is what you are,” Arthur murmured, relaxing into the warm embrace.

The arms around him tightened, the loosened again. A hand came up to rest against his forehead. “Dude, you’re hot,” Alfred commented. “Are you feeling okay? Is this a symptom? I could get you some ice cream—that always makes me feel better.”

Arthur laughed and pulled Alfred’s hand down. “I’m fine. You’ll make yourself gray worrying like that. Let’s just…sit here like this. Just for a little while.”

“Alright,” the American agreed. In the back of his mind, more questions were sitting, waiting to be asked. _Do his wings cure the sickness? Once he gets them, will he be able to stay forever? What if the answer is no? What then? How can I fix this?_ Wrapping his arms around his boyfriend again, he squeezed his eyes shut as if they could protect him from these horrible thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Warm_Latte: Francis is here and he's as ridiculous as expected xD Though maybe not as ridiculous as his friends?? Idk lol they're fun.
> 
> @FuckLife: Thank you!!! I'm so happy you found my story! Thank you for reading and commenting!!!
> 
> @Gomblin: You're like my new favorite person for all your comments. That's some next level readership right there. I hope you continue to enjoy! Thank you for reading!!


	13. Lessons in Subterfuge

The hours of sunlight were getting longer and longer in Britannia and Alfred started staying out at team practice later and later. His team had another big game coming up against a team from a coastal town to the west and was holding practices twice a day. The sunlight felt pleasant on Arthur’s skin as he walked down the road, but the brightness had a sharp edge to it and did not improve his already aching head.

He put a hand up to it, trying to massage the painful areas, but it did no good. He’d already taken some of the human pain medication in an attempt to thwart the throbbing and, as he’d suspected, he might as well have been popping jelly babies for all the help it had been.

_Four months_ , he thought as he walked. It felt like he’d been in this little city both forever and only overnight. He looked up, shielding his eyes, and stared at the blue expanse above. The sky was endless, but deceptively so, for he knew that right around _there_ should be the smallest wrinkle in Dimension—an infinitesimal scar, an easily overlooked testament to the day he’d tumbled from the Upper Shell down to Earth. It had healed over almost as soon as he’d fallen, so it was nigh impossible to find without using some sort of angelic sense.

The places where the Go-Betweens routinely opened portals to the Middle Shell were scarred and unsightly, so the angels placed various distractions there during the days that the gash between the Dimensions was visible. Arthur’s favorite was the wide swaths of color that danced across the sky to cover the Dimensionlock directly below the Himinn sector of Heaven. The colorful ribbons were much like humans themselves—frivolous, joyful, and short-lived. Every year the colors covered the skies to hide the scars of Heaven.

_After all_ , Arthur mused, looking back at the street in front of him. _Nothing heals perfectly._

He passed Emma’s bakery on the right and presently came to the steps of Antonio’s Musical Surplus. Someone had swept the remnants of the snow off the doorstep where it had melted into puddles in the sunshine. Arthur breathed deeply and ascended the steps into the shop. The metallic scent of the instruments blended with the deeper tones of oil and polish, giving the shop a museum-like smell. In a corner, Antonio was skillfully talking a pair of parents into buying a small keyboard for their son, who was happily plunking away at the keys.

As soon as Arthur entered the store, Antonio looked over the parents’ heads and gave him a grin. He excused himself from the pair and approached the angel. “Welcome, amigo! You here for your lesson?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind that I’m a bit early,” Arthur fretted.

Antonio waved his big tanned hand dismissively. “Not at all! Romano’s last appointment cancelled, so he’s free. Let me call him for you.”

At the shout of his name, Romano’s grumpy face appeared from behind a door to the side of the shop. When he spotted his student, he slouched out of the room and approached him. “Come on back, Arthur,” he directed, waving him forward.

Arthur, surprised that Romano had remembered his name, followed him back into the same room he’d emerged from. It was a small, soundproofed room containing a piano, music stands, stools, and a mini table. A basket half-full of tomatoes sat on the table, which was also spread with sheet music. A guitar in an expensive stand sat beside the stool closest to the table and the tomatoes. Romano sat himself upon that stool and began shuffling through his sheet music. “You gonna sit down or what?” He asked the angel after a moment.

Arthur swung the bag containing Alfred’s guitar off of his shoulder and took a seat on a stool opposite the other man. “Er, should I get it out now?” He motioned to the instrument.

Romano stared at him, his face neutral. “Do you plan on playing it through the bag?”

“No.”

“Then you should probably take it out. Here, use this stand.” He produced another, less expensive stand from behind the first.

_This git_ , Arthur thought, extracting the guitar from the case and placing it gently on the stand. Alfred had begged him not to damage it, even though he’d never seen the American actually play it.

Romano handed a piece of paper to Arthur with some notes circled on it. “Can you read music at all?”

“A little,” Arthur replied, studying the paper. He’d taken music classes all through primary school. Thankfully angels, humans, and demons all used the same way of scoring music, so this notation was nothing new.

“ _Grazie santa madre Maria_ ,” Romano muttered, taking the paper back. “Music theory is my least favorite part. Guitars generally use chords, but being able to read music is helpful. Have you ever played the guitar before? Do you know how to hold it?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, this will be my first time.”

He was worried this might anger Romano, but the other man nodded and picked up his own instrument. “I’m going to play a simple song for you. Notice the way I’m holding it and the pressure I’m using to pluck the strings. If you’re too gentle, you won’t get a rich sound. If you dig into it like you’re hoeing a damn garden, you’re gonna damage the instrument. Got it?”

When Arthur nodded, he readied himself and began to play. The sound was warm and unhurried. The notes bounced about cheerfully and reminded Arthur of someplace sunny and cheerful. Romano closed his eyes as he played and, for the first time, looked almost gentle in the face. His fingers worked the strings languidly but insistently, pulling the song from the instrument smoothly, like stretching taffy. His love for music was clear, as was his talent. When he finished the short piece, Arthur clapped for him. “That was brilliant.”

Romano immediately morphed from relaxed to embarrassed and scowled fiercely at his student. “Stop clapping, you idiot. That song could be played by an orangutan with a head injury and only half his chromosomes.”

“Well, I can’t play it,” Arthur said cheerfully. Romano looked at him pointedly. _This git_ , Arthur thought again, his eyebrow twitching. “What song was that?”

For whatever reason, Romano bristled at this question and gritted his teeth as he answered. “ _La Marcha Real_.” This meant nothing to Arthur, but it seemed to be shameful to Romano, so he didn’t mention it again.

The rest of the half-hour was spent teaching Arthur a few basic chords and the proper way to hold and strum. Finally, Romano announced that time was up and assigned his pupil multiple sheets of homework. Arthur sighed internally but took the papers and stowed them in the pockets on the guitar case. As he was putting away his instrument, he shot a glance at his teacher’s face. Romano looked pleased with himself for getting through another lesson and rewarded himself with one of the tomatoes on the table, which he ate raw like an apple. “Say, chap,” Arthur said, hoping that he wouldn’t be thrown bodily out of the room. “How do you like working here?”

The expression on Romano’s face showed how unwelcome that question, or any question, was. Still, he swallowed his bite of tomato and seemed to consider the matter. “It’s a job,” he finally replied.

“Yes, but is…” Arthur stumbled over his own words from nerves. “Is Antonio a good boss?”

The mention of Antonio’s name was like sticking Romano with a pin and he grimaced. “He’s a complete tool,” he bit out. In his left hand, the tomato he held dripped juice down his arm from being squeezed. “But he’s fair, I suppose.”

So far the Italian hadn’t attacked him. Might as well continue pressing his luck. “Do you two hang out as mates outside of work?”

“No.”

“Why not? I’d think you’d get right chummy working together like this.”

Romano stopped chewing his tomato and sized his student up with his eyes. He swallowed, put his snack down on a paper napkin, and pressed his lips together. “Why are you asking me about that asshole?”

Arthur gulped. Romano was sharper than his head-in-the-clouds little brother. “I, well,” He searched his mind for any excuse. “One of the, er, cheerleaders for Alfred’s team mentioned that she, ah, thought he was dishy and asked me to, eh, ask _you_ if he was, y’know, available.”

Instead of exploding, Romano deflated the smallest amount and his face took on a vaguely disgusted expression. “Not this again,” he muttered. “It’s like every flea-bitten mongrel salivating after that bastard comes wagging up to me expecting me to help. I’ll tell you like I tell every potato-fed idiot that asks—Antonio isn’t on the market.”

“Ah, so he’s taken, then? I asked Alfred but he didn’t know.”

“The hell do you mean ‘he didn’t know’? Anyone who doesn’t realize he’s already in a relationship hasn’t paid enough attention to him.”

Arthur zipped up his guitar case and ventured another question. “Who, er, who is he dating, again? I’m new, you know,” he added quickly when Romano looked like he might spout fire at him. _Come on. Say it_.

“ _Dios mio._ He’s obviously dating Emma, you tea-drinking cabbage.”

_Aha_. There it was. Feliciano was right. Arthur knew he ought to be offended by the insult, but he _did_ drink a lot of tea and he _was_ a bit of a trowel, so Romano had a point. A vein was pulsing in the Italian’s forehead now, so he figured this would be as good a time as any to take his leave. “I’ll see you Thursday, then?”

Romano muttered something in Italian that didn’t sound complimentary, so Arthur scurried out of the room without saying anything further. On his way out, Antonio waved him over to the counter. “Did you have a good lesson? Romano didn’t say anything horrible, did he?”

“No. He actually played me a lovely rendition of some song I’d never heard before.”

Antonio sighed and seemed to sink into the floor a little. “Ah…you’re lucky, amigo. I wish he’d play for me.” He cast a quick glance back at the music room and lowered his voice. “Did he say anything about…well, you know…”

Arthur considered telling him what he’d heard, but shut his mouth and shook his head instead. “My apologies.”

“I expected nothing different, to tell the truth,” Antonio replied, laughing lightly. “Be safe going home, yeah?”

oOoOo

Arthur passed Cedar Wood Grill on his way back home, stopped, and turned around to go in. It was still open as a cafe now, but the staff was used to him dropping in on Lili almost as much as Vash. He entered the front door and one of the other waitresses waved at him and motioned to the back. Lili came out a moment later, still dressed in her daytime uniform, a gray vest over a patterned button-down shirt, a dark skirt, and an apron. “Arthur!” She said happily, weaving through tables to reach him. “I’m so glad to see you! Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head and reached out to ruffle her hair. “No, I just thought I’d pop over and say hullo.”

“Thank you!” She smiled brightly. “Oh, I just remembered! I have something to tell you!”

“What’s that?”

Her smile turned mischievous. “I’m having my first belt test this weekend at the dojo. I’m inviting Big Brother to it and not telling him that it’s me getting tested! Can you come as well? I’d…I’d appreciate the support.”

Her big green eyes were so hopeful that he couldn’t very well turn her down. “I think I can arrange that. What time?”

“It’s on Saturday and starts at six o’clock in the evening. You don’t have to dress up or anything!”

“Very well. Al has a game on Saturday, but it should be over by that time. I’ll be there, barring unusual circumstances. You have my word.”

She cheered. “Oh, I’m so excited. I think Big Brother will let me start walking home by myself if he sees how hard I’m working at it.” She twiddled her fingers nervously. “M-maybe he’ll even let me date.”

“I can’t see why he wouldn’t. You’re a grown woman and it’s time he treated you like one.”

“I’m so happy you feel that way. I thought something was wrong with me for thinking the same thing.”

Arthur shook his head. “Not at all. I’ll be on my way, then. I’ll see you on Saturday, if not before.”

“It’s a plan!” She waved him out of the restaurant, beaming.

oOoOo

That night, Arthur opened his little white chest and stared at the crystals inside. Two silver crystals rotated slowly in the major tier, right above two smaller gold crystals in the minor tier. The flapstone hollow was as empty as ever. The pounding in Arthur’s head increased as he ruminated in his mind. He needed two more major and three minor changes. He’d been here four months and only gotten two of each…how was he to finish it in time? The task seemed gargantuan, undoable.

Perhaps this mess with Romano and Antonio would pan out, though he wasn’t sure if that would count as a minor or a major change. Who else could he help? He thumped his head lightly with a fist. _Think, think, think_.

“Dude.” A hand caught his fist and prevented it from striking again. Alfred had entered the room, fresh from the shower, without Arthur noticing. He stood over his boyfriend, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’re you doing?”

“I was just thinking of—BLOODY HELL!” Arthur had turned around to face his boyfriend and had gotten an eyeful of Alfred in a small towel instead. “Do you _mind?_ Put clothes on!” He turned back to his desk and tried not to remember what he’d seen. His buffoon of a roommate had no shame and now he was feeling warm in all the wrong places.

Alfred rolled his eyes and pouted a bit. “Oh, c’mon. We’re dating. Your _tongue’s_ been in my _mouth_ and you’re worried about seeing some abs? I work hard for these!” Arthur spluttered, forming no recognizable words. Alfred laughed and, once dressed, presented himself again. “There, better?”

“Humph.”

“Ugh, the coaches worked us so hard today!” Alfred complained, flopping back on his bedspread. “I’m beat. Come rub my back, Arthur!”

Arthur could feel the blood in his cheeks. “No, I’d rather stay sitting right where I am, thank you very much!”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Alfred replied, standing up again and crossing the room.

“Don’t touch me!” Arthur yelped as his boyfriend draped himself over his shoulders and started poking his cheek.

“Ha! You’re so grumpy and small! You’re Kiku-sized!”

“Unhand me, I say!”

Arthur twisted around to push Alfred away, but caused the other man to stumble and fall, pulling the chair over with him. Alfred continued to laugh, Arthur continued to steam, and the little white chest was forgotten for another evening.

oOoOo

Romano was even surlier than usual during Thursday’s lesson and Arthur suspected he knew why. When he walked into the music store that afternoon, Emma and Antonio greeted him together. “Hola, Arthur! Good to see you back!”

“Hullo, Antonio. Hullo, Emma,” Arthur greeted them. Emma waved at him enthusiastically from behind a cooking magazine. “Is Romano ready?”

Antonio shook his head. “He’s still with his last student. Have a seat and chat with us while you wait. Emma brought churros!”

When Romano eventually emerged from his practice room to see his teenaged student off, he scowled and avoided looking in the trio’s direction. Arthur bid goodbye to Antonio and Emma and followed the Italian back into the soundproofed room. Romano slammed the door harder than usual and sat down on his stool, clearly peeved. Arthur paused as he reached for his completed homework. “You alright? You look rather in shambles.”

The vein was pulsing again in Romano’s forehead. “I’m fine,” he answered. “You’re seeing things.”

“You sure?”

“Just get out your damn guitar!”

Arthur unzipped his case and undid the straps around Alfred’s instrument. “You don’t fancy Emma much, do you?”

Romano’s eyes flicked to the angel’s face. He was taken aback; how did he know Emma was the cause? Everyone else usually assumed he was angry with Antonio. This guy was perceptive. Perceptive people made Romano uncomfortable. “What makes you say that?” He asked warily.

Arthur shrugged. “Dunno. Just the way you looked at her. Or, rather, _didn’t_ look at her.”

“I also didn’t look at my bastard of a boss. I didn’t look at you, either.”

“Yes, but you look at him all the time.”

Romano nearly fell off his stool. “What? I do not! I don’t give a damn what he does and I never have!”

“Alright, then,” Arthur replied mildly, settling his guitar in his lap.

Still outraged, Romano picked up his own instrument and fiddled with the tuning knobs. “Don’t you even think about getting the wrong impression,” he growled. “I just don’t see why she can’t read her shitty magazines in her own shitty shop instead of coming here and disrupting everything. That’s all. It has nothing to do with _him_.”

Arthur struggled to keep his face neutral. “I never said it did,” he pointed out. “You’re the only one who’s mentioned him.”

Romano’s hands were shaking and he looked as though he’d like nothing better than to bludgeon the other man with his music stand. “Let’s just get this goddamn lesson over with,” he said through gritted teeth.

oOoOo

On his way out of the shop (Romano didn’t accompany him to the door), Arthur signaled for Antonio to come closer. Antonio approached him eagerly. Behind his back, Emma watched the two with a curious expression on her face. “I’ve had an idea,” Arthur said quietly. “I’m going to need your cooperation.”

“Anything,” Antonio agreed. “How can I help?”

The angel checked to make sure Romano was still in the practice room before continuing. “Next week, after my lesson on Tuesday, a man is going to come in and ask you something unusual. Just go along with it.”

Antonio blinked, nonplussed. “What man? What do you mean unusual?”

“Never mind the details,” Arthur chided. “I’ll stick around after the lesson to make sure it happens. Just go along with whatever the chap suggests. I think this will solve your problems with your tempestuous employee.”

Frowning a little, the Spaniard nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

Once outside, Arthur looked up and down the street and groaned. _Of course. Never here when you need them. As if I have nothing better to do than spend my time hunting demons…! This had better be worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romano is an interesting character. He seems very one-dimensional and angry, but I think he’s got a lot more going on beneath the surface.   
> Thanks for reading and comment if you feel so inclined! 
> 
> FuckLife: Buckle up, amigo, yo shit gonna get real fucked from here on out xD Thank you so much for hanging with me and commenting! Do you have a favorite pairing/character in Hetalia?


	14. The Art of the Filibuster

“Oh my _god_ , a secret mission! This is, like, so exciting,” Feliks said, waving his hands and knocking his colorful frozen drink off the park bench on which he’d sat it. Toris dived for it, but it slipped through his fingers and spilt slush all over the grass. “Whoopsie! Don’t worry about it, Toris, I’ll go get another one. I’m more interested in this, anyway.”

Francis was pleased to be needed. “What is zis mission you speak of?”

Arthur had found the trio of demons enjoying the sunshine in the park with various beverages. Despite their benign appearances, they had managed to creep out most of the others in the park—Francis popped his eyebrows sensually at them, Toris was far too interested in their earlobes, and Feliks gave fashion critiques on everyone who passed in a voice that was probably supposed to be only audible to his companions but was actually quite loud.

When they saw the angel passing by, they had called him over with horribly embarrassing hoots and ‘yoo-hoo’s. Though he wished the earth would swallow him, Arthur forced himself to endure the shame and approach them. “I have a friend, you see, and he needs a favor.”

“I’m listening,” Francis said, sipping his cappuccino expectantly.

“I know this might be awkward…but I need you to flirt with him in front of—”

“I’ll do it!” Frances cut him off. “Who and where?”

Arthur felt his eyebrow twitch. “Don’t agree to things before you know the specifics!”

Frances waved his indignation away. “Details, details. If you need someone seduced, you ‘ave come to ze right demon.”

“He’s a master,” Toris agreed, nodding solemnly.

Feliks clasped his hands together in glee. “A whirlwind love affair during a vacation in an exotic location! Someone pinch me!”

“No, no, there’s no whirlwinds and no love affairs, thank you! It’s strictly business!” Arthur protested. “He’s already in love with someone else, but that someone else is a horse’s arse and needs a bit of a prod.”

“Prodding?” Francis repeated suggestively.

“NOT LIKE THAT.”

Toris took a drink of his smoothie. “We’re going to a concert on Tuesday. Can we work it around that?”

“What time is your concert?” Arthur asked.

Feliks leaned over Toris’ lap and drank his smoothie as well, ignoring his friend’s protests. “Eight o’clock pm. I’m going to wear something slinky and scandalous, so, like, you better not mess that up!”

“You’ll definitely be done by then. Just be at this address at two-thirty pm. No earlier!” Arthur handed Francis a slip of paper with the address to Antonio’s Musical Surplus on it.

Francis looked at it and then turned his face back to the angel. “Okay. Two-thirty. What zen?”

“I’ll be standing at the counter, talking to a man with messy brown hair, green eyes, and tan skin. He may or may not be eating churros.” Francis growled sensually, but Arthur ignored him and continued talking. “His name is Antonio. Browse the store or what have you until another man with brown hair, green eyes, and, er, tan skin comes out of the back. His name is Romano.”

“Oh my god, are they twins?” Feliks asked, eyes wide. “Is this _twincest_? Like, scandalous!”

“Er, no. You’ll know the difference. Antonio is sort of…stockier and pleasant. Romano is slender and…I don’t know…angrier. Plus Antonio’s hair is curly and Romano’s is straight except for one lock.”

Francis nodded sagely. “Understood. Continue.” To his left, Feliks was visibly disappointed by the lack of scandal.

“When the angry fellow emerges from the back, I want you to approach the counter and aggressively hit on Antonio,” Arthur continued. “Then you must ask him out on a date.”

Feliks perked up again. “Ooh, ask him to come with us to the concert! I want, like, everyone to see me all dolled up.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, no, that’s not the _point_. The point is that Romano absolutely must hear you ask Antonio out and then hear Antonio’s reply. Got it? Antonio’s not going to actually date you.”

Now Francis looked disappointed, but tucked the address in his breast pocket anyway. “Alright. Two-thirty on Tuesday. Enter, flirt wiz ze good twin, piss off ze evil twin, leave.”

“That’s…well. That’s the gist of it, anyhow,” Arthur sighed.

“So, like, how are you going to pay us?”

“Pay you? Isn’t participating in an ‘exotic secret mission’ enough for you? And you’re not even the one doing anything!”

Feliks pouted. “I’m moral support and we don’t work for free. These Tropical Cha-Cha slushies don’t buy themselves, you know.”

_The nerve_! Then again, Arthur supposed he _was_ asking a fairly involved favor. “What do you want?” He asked.

Toris, who had been silently lamenting his now-empty smoothie, spoke up. “Is there anything you can swing for us? Tickets to something we’ve never experienced before? Reservations at hard-to-get-in restaurants?”

“Get us on the red carpet!” Feliks demanded.

Arthur scowled at the demons. “Who do you think I am, exactly? How am I supposed to conjure something like that up?”

“What are _you_ doing this weekend?” Francis asked innocently.

“Well, I’m going to Alfred’s game on Saturday and then I promised…wait…”

He only realized the full folly of giving them his true plans when Feliks spoke. “Perfect! Take us with you!”

“That’s…” Arthur tried to find a way to shimmy out of it, but couldn’t. “Fine. You can come with me. You’d better be on your best behavior, though, understood?”

Feliks cheered. Toris smiled at him fondly. “I’m excited,” he said. “Where are we going, again?”

“It’s an American football game.”

“Oh.” Toris scratched his neck. “You’re so happy, Feliks. Do you like American football?”

Feliks grinned. “I have, like, no idea what that is!”

“Oh,” Toris repeated. “Francis?”

“Not a clue,” Francis replied. “I’m sure Arthur will teach us all about it, zough, won’t you?”

Arthur could feel another headache coming on and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I suppose. Here,” he pulled out another scrap of paper and wrote down the address for the stadium on it. “Here’s where we’ll meet. Be there by ten o’clock in the morning or I’m going in without you.”

“We’ll be there!” Toris assured him.

oOoOo

Matt, Kiku, and Alfred were all shocked to hear who would be joining Arthur at the game. “D-demons?” Matt repeated, looking as horrified as his twin had the first time he’d learnt of their existence as well. “In Britannia? Going to football games?!”

“Unfortunately,” Arthur confirmed. “They’re…decent enough fellows, I suppose. Al’s already met them once.”

Matt and Kiku turned to stare accusingly at Alfred. “You knew there were _demons_ in town and you didn’t tell us?” Matt said.

“Of course I didn’t tell you,” Alfred explained matter-of-factly. “I didn’t think you’d want to know. It’s creepy.”

Arthur looked between the twins and chuckled at their expressions. “No need to fear, Matt. If Alfred can handle them, you certainly can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alfred demanded.

“What do they look like?” Matt asked, still wide-eyed.

Alfred answered before Arthur had a chance. “They look like regular people. You’ve probably been hanging out with demons all week and didn’t know it! Everyone you know is probably a demon!”

“Alfred!” Arthur chastised his boyfriend. “You’re being unhelpful. Why don’t you two come along to the game with me and meet them?”

Matt and Kiku exchanged glances. “I was planning to go to the game anyway,” Kiku said quietly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh? You didn’t tell me you were going as well,” Arthur said. Kiku said nothing in reply, but looked down at his tea, avoiding the angel’s eyes. That niggling feeling of guilt that always ate away at Arthur when he was with the Japanese man began to flare up again and he also avoided looking across the table.

If he noticed the tension, Matt didn’t comment on it. “I’ll drive Kiku to the stadium. How about that? I don’t know about sitting through the whole game.”

Both Arthur and Kiku’s eyes widened. “That’s…” Arthur began.

“You should stay, Matt,” Kiku encouraged. “You should definitely stay!”

Matt narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Why?”

The thought of sitting with three demons and one broken-hearted Japanese man at Alfred’s game was a horrible one. “It’ll be fun!” Arthur said brightly, smiling what he hoped was a winning smile. “Probably!”

“’Probably’?” Matt repeated.

“It will be very fun!” Kiku agreed fervently, clasping his fist. “Do not give into your fear, Matt.”

Matt was still suspicious, but agreed reluctantly. “If you two are going to be so adamant about it, I guess I have no choice. Fine.”

Alfred cheered. “This is gonna be awesome!”

oOoOo

“What the bloody _hell_ are you wearing?” Arthur demanded when the demons arrived at the front of the stadium on Saturday morning.

Feliks looked affronted. “What? This is, like, a very special occasion and I dressed accordingly. Why do you look like such a bag?”

“This is what you’re _supposed_ to wear to football games, you idiot,” Arthur hissed, pulling on his Eagles jersey.

“First off, I find your tone rude. Second off, you look like you should never be allowed to dress yourself. Ever.”

Francis clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Now, now, Feliks, be generous. It’s not ’is fault ‘e ‘as no fashion sense.”

Arthur turned his indignation toward the tall demon. “Excuse me?”

“Arthur, Arthur. Listen. You can ‘ave ‘air like yours, or you can be fashionable. You can only choose one.” When the angel was speechless in response, Francis seemed encouraged. “If you’d let me do your ‘air, you’d be at _least_ a six out of ten.”

Finally finding words, Arthur sputtered in rage. “Your hair looks like bloody soggy capellini noodles, you uppity twonk! Who are you calling a ‘six out of ten’?”

“No, no,” Francis corrected him. “I said you’d _be_ a six out of ten. Right now you’re about a four.”

“Four?!” Arthur repeated.

Before the argument got out of hand, Kiku, who had been studying Feliks’ flouncy skirt and bows, cleared his throat to interrupt. “Feliks? May I call you by that name? Ah, well, I believe I have seen outfits like yours before. In my home country, we call this style ‘hime lolita’. You’ve done an excellent job with the construction of these clothes.”

“Oh, I like you! Flatter me more!” Feliks said, hiding his grin behind the crook of a lacy parasol he carried in his left hand. “You can sit next to me during the game.”

Kiku’s eyes said he’d rather shave his head and become an ascetic on top of Mount Fuji but his natural politeness led him to agree and smile, however forced it may be. At his side, Matt seemed to be trying to go invisible. His efforts were in vain, for Francis eyed him suspiciously. “And who is zis flower? You look just like Alfred but your body language tells me you are completely different.”

“This is Alfred’s twin brother, Matt. Beside him is our flatmate, Kiku. Matt, Kiku, this is Francis, Toris, and Feliks.” Arthur sighed, hoping to just get into the stadium and sit down without causing any more of a scene. “They know about your, er, _special circumstances_ just as they know about mine, but please try not to scare them.”

Francis stepped forward, took Matt’s hand, and pulled him close. Before Matt could object, he tipped his head up with a finger and smirked. “Ah, yes,” the demon purred. “Now I see ze subtle differences between you and your brozzer. Your face and eyes are so much softer, no? Magnificent.”

Toris and Feliks peered around either side of Francis and also ogled the poor man. Unused to receiving so much attention, Matt was either flattered beyond words or too terrified to move—Arthur couldn’t tell. Francis finally released him after pressing a kiss to his hand, but he stayed frozen to the spot until Toris began examining his earlobes, at which point he scuttled behind Arthur and tugged on the collar of his jersey in an effort to cool down.

The angel sighed again and silently cursed his lot in life. “Let’s just get to our seats.”

Once the game began, the demons required explanations of everything that was happening, from the numbers the players wore on their backs to the purpose of the stadium workers who were walking up and down the stairs hawking cotton candy. Kiku knew nothing about football, so Matt and Arthur took turns trying to explain the gameplay. “They’re trying to get the ball past the ten-yard line before they use up all their downs,” Matt explained. “If they make it, they get to restart their downs. If they don’t, they must surrender the ball to the other team.”

“Why are they pushing each other so hard?” Toris asked, watching the players intently.

“They’re trying to keep the other team from tackling the player with the ball,” Matt replied.

Feliks squinted at the field. “They’d probably be able to, like, move more easily if they took off all that bulky stuff they’re wearing.”

“They can’t take it off,” Arthur said. “It’d be too dangerous.”

“Why?”

“They’d addle their brains knocking against each other like that, of course. They already get injured enough as it is,” Arthur complained, thinking of how often Alfred came home with bruises and sores.

Feliks was unimpressed. “How soft! You should see the game we play at the moon tides in Hell. Padding is banned and players are required to grow their neck spines at _least_ , like, an inch long.”

“Oh, I love watching Krampuskein!” Toris added. “We’re not allowed to end the festival until someone loses an eye!”

Matt, Kiku, and Arthur cringed simultaneously. “This sort of demonic dumpery is why your tourism is terrible,” Arthur criticized. “Who’d want to see such a thing?”

“It’s not that bad,” Toris said soothingly, trying to lessen the horror on the humans’ faces. “What’s an eye or two here and there? You just grow it back the next year.”

Francis laughed as Kiku and Matt paled even further at Toris’ words. “I love ‘umans,” he declared. “Speaking of ‘umans, where is yours? I ‘aven’t seen ‘im yet.”

“He doesn’t come out until his team scores and he’s needed to kick a field goal,” Arthur answered. “I’ll point him out when it’s time.”

The demons settled down and managed to focus on the game until one of the megatron screens began showing a kiss cam. The camera focused on different couples in the crowd who inevitably blushed and shared a quick kiss. Feliks gasped and sat as tall as he could. “Oh my god! If the camera comes this way, I want all of you to kiss me! Toris! Is my crown on straight?”

Terrified of being kissed, Kiku leaned as far away from Feliks as possible without ending up in Matt’s lap. Toris and Feliks fussed over his hair, but the camera slid smoothly over them and landed on Francis and Arthur, who were sitting beside each other at the end of the row. The crowd cheered for a kiss and Francis bounced his eyebrows suggestively, but Arthur made furious slashing motions in front of his neck while pushing the demon away with his other hand. “I’ll pluck the hairs out of your bloody wispy goatee with my fingernails if you so much as move,” he hissed out of the side of his mouth. “I’ll scratch the Skinwalk off your face, I will!”

Once the camera moved away, Arthur relaxed. Francis pouted a bit, but Toris chuckled at him. “Don’t take it personally, Francis. He does have a boyfriend, after all.”

Feliks, who was still a little annoyed at being passed over, leaned forward to smirk at the angel. “So, like, how far have you and Alfred gone?”

Arthur squawked in surprise at the question and immediately flushed. “W-what?”

“You know. Have you kissed?”

“O-of course. We’re dating, after all,” Arthur replied, doing his best to stare at the field and not look towards Feliks lest he make eye contact with Kiku.

“And?”

“And what?”

Feliks rolled his eyes as if it was obvious. “Have you two _done it_ yet?”

To his left, Kiku dropped the cup of water he’d bought from the concessions stand. The water splashed out, soaking Matt’s and his shoes. Arthur nearly fell out of his seat himself. “What? No! I mean…that’s none of your bloody business!” He buried his face in his hands in shame. Didn’t these demons have any sense of decorum? Did they not remember they were sitting with Alfred’s brother?

Feliks was puzzled at the reaction. “What? It’s just a question.”

“Angels are very prudish about zis sort of zing,” Francis commented, enjoying Arthur’s mortification. “Look at ‘is face!”

“Why are you two embarrassed?” Toris asked Kiku and Matt, who were staring intently at the ground and the sky respectively. “Human art is historically full of sexuality. I thought it’d be a fairly normal topic of conversation.”

Feliks nodded. “It’s, like, all over your advertising. I was hoping Arthur would report a firsthand account of that aspect of human culture.”

“Report?” Arthur repeated, incensed. “Alfred and I aren’t a bloody science experiment!”

The demons tilted their heads at him. Francis frowned. “Are you not?”

Arthur bristled at his tone. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re trying to earn your wings to get back to Heaven, no?” Francis asked, confused. “What do you expect to ‘appen when you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think everything will stay ze same? You’ll come back? Get married? Adopt kids? You’re not that naïve.”

Matt brought his gaze down from the sky to also look at Arthur questioningly. The expression on his face said that he’d never thought of this before. Even Kiku, still blushing, waited for an answer. Arthur floundered for an answer, then floundered harder when he realized that he didn’t have one. What _was_ he planning on doing when all of this was over? What was ‘all of this’ anyway?

A wave of nausea hit him and he stood shakily. “I’m going to nip to the loo right quick. Be back in a flash.”

Matt, Francis, Toris, and Feliks watched him hurry up the stairs and disappear into the complex. The demons exchanged guilty looks amongst themselves, then Toris changed the subject by rating the shape of each of the football players’ butts in order of the number on their uniforms. Kiku stared into the shallow water at the bottom of his cup and contemplated.

Arthur paced back and forth in front of the door to the Eagles’ locker room, breathing deep in hopes that the nausea would go away. The buzzer that announced halftime had sounded not long ago and, as had become a habit, Alfred was due to pop out of the locker room to see his boyfriend for a few stolen moments. A bead of sweat formed on Arthur’s forehead and he swiped it away angrily. Was it hot down here or was it just the nausea? He could feel the beginnings of the usual headache stirring in his left temple.

The door to the locker room opened and a blonde head poked out to look around. When he spotted his boyfriend, Alfred slipped out through the door, closing it behind him. “Artie! I knew you’d be—hey, are you alright? What’s the matter?”

Arthur lifted his face and willed away his weakness. “No, no, I’m fine, honestly,” he assured the taller man, smiling. “I’m…just a bit tired, is all. Spending time with demons is more exhausting than one might think.”

Alfred pushed Arthur’s bangs off his face and studied his eyes. “Let’s grab a seat on that bench over there. You look like you might collapse.”

“Bah! Have you seen the scoreboard? You should be worrying about that, not me,” Arthur retorted, following him to the bench.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. “Argh! Don’t remind me! This team is tough!”

“Would you like me to bamboozle them with some angel magic?”

“You can do that!?”

“No,” Arthur admitted, laughing at the amazed look on Alfred’s face. “I can’t. I’m just taking the mickey out of you.”

Alfred protested and whined against the trickery, but Arthur just watched him and smiled. The American was _so_ cute. The way he puffed his cheeks out when he was frustrated…the way his eyes lit up when he was excited…the little bit of hair that stubbornly stuck up at the front of his head…Arthur loved it all.

He’d known for a while that his feelings were spiraling towards something he wouldn’t be able to undo, but the pain in his heart at the thought of Francis’ words cemented the truth—he’d fallen in love with Alfred. How and when it had happened, he didn’t know, but it was real, as real as the feel of their fingers intertwined. Yes, it was real, but it was also a dream—a perfect, beautiful dream from which he must surely eventually awaken. The feelings that were so bright and poignant now would one day be only memories in the vault of his heart.

“Arthur?” Alfred said, breaking through the angel’s thoughts “Babe, what’s the matter?”

Arthur had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized moisture had pooled in the corners of his eyes, refusing to fall. He smiled and laughed, blinking it away. “S-sorry, love, I…I’m just so happy I met you.”

Blood rushed to Alfred’s face and he looked away, embarrassed. Arthur had not only complimented him…he’d used the L word as well, even if only as a pet name. “Geez…you’re gonna make me cry. My teammates would never let me live it down. This isn’t like you at all!”

“Kiss me,” Arthur ordered. As an afterthought, he added, “Idiot.”

“That’s more like it!” Alfred exclaimed. Still very red in the cheeks, he grabbed Arthur’s face with both hands and kissed him with exuberance. “If the demons are giving you too much trouble, I have a solution,” he said once they had parted.

“What’s that?”

“Ask Matt to tell them about hockey. You’ll have no more problems—I guarantee it.”

Another kiss, then another. “I’ll do that. You focus on the game and for heaven’s sake, don’t come home covered in bruises this time. Understood?”

Alfred grinned and saluted. “Yes, sir! You can count on your hero!”

When he finally returned to his seat, Arthur ignored the looks of concern from his friends and smirked wickedly. “I’ve just seen Al. He told me something very interesting.”

The demons’ interest was piqued. “What did he say?” Toris asked.

“He said that if you like football, you’ll _love_ a game called ‘hockey’. Apparently Matt knows quite a lot about it. Is this true, Matt?”

At the word ‘hockey’, Matt’s head snapped up and a hungry gleam entered his eyes. “You want to know about hockey? Really?”

“What’s hockey?” Feliks asked, curious.

Matt took a deep breath and Arthur realized just what Alfred had meant when he said there would be no more trouble. “If you want to be historically accurate, the first pseudo-hockey was played during the Roman and Greek empires. Modern hockey, however, originated in Montreal, Canada in 1875. It became popular in Canada due to the easy accessibility of ice upon which--”

oOoOo

“—1998, when the franchise decided to expand in the Western conference. The original idea was to move the New Jersey Devils down south, but a man named Craig Leipold made a bid to--” Matt continued as the group left the stadium. The Eagles had lost, but no one in the group had noticed due to the extensive soliloquy they were being treated to.

The three demons looked as frayed as Arthur felt, and they began to look desperately at the exit. When Matt showed no signs of stopping, Arthur made a shooing motion towards the door to the street and mouthed ‘just go!’ at them. They nodded and hurried away, ignoring Matt’s cries behind them.

“What’d they run off for?” Matt asked, frowning. “I hadn’t even gotten to the rules yet! How rude!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're going to see exactly how Romano reacts to Arthur's plan...I'm gonna hazard a guess he doesn't like it. 
> 
> Looks like a cinnamon roll and is actually a cinnamon roll: Feliciano, Feliks  
> Looks like a cinnamon roll but would actually kill you: Lili, Matt  
> Looks like they would kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll: Romano, Gilbert  
> Looks like they would kill you and would actually kill you: Vash, Ludwig
> 
> @FuckLife: I gotta agree with you on USUK being the OTP! I'm also in the multishipper faction, though, as I like PruCan and PruHun and Franada and Spamano and GerIta and Ameripan and and and...it just keeps going on... Anyway I'm glad to see you here again! I hope you continue to enjoy!
> 
> @Gomblin: You're awesome! Thanks so much for reading and writing so many awesome comments! It really warms my heart to know that someone is enjoying this story! You're right--Romano is actually a smol bean who deserves love and self-confidence. Kiku and Lili and Arthur and Toris are all smol beans as well.


	15. Not Enough

The dojo was dark and cool inside, the opposite of the steaming weather outside. Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets, as was his anxious habit, and scanned the expectant crowd. Metal chairs squeaked as their occupants chatted quietly and fidgeted, waiting for the testing to begin. Near the back, he found Vash sitting by himself. The man’s stormy scowl had effectively deterred anyone from sitting next to him, so Arthur had no trouble threading down an aisle and plopping into the seat to his right. Vash’s scowl softened, but suspicion was written clearly on his face as he looked at the angel. “Lili invited you to this as well?” he said flatly.

Arthur noticed Kaoru bow and step onto the mat out of the corner of his eye. “She did,” he replied, acting like he didn’t recognize the teenager. “I had nothing better to do.”

Vash continued to eye him coolly. “Why she wanted to come watch martial arts, I can’t figure out.” He turned his attention back to the mat. “…isn’t that the boy from apartment 912 down the hall?” His eyes drew more tightly in together.

Sensing that he was putting two and two together, Arthur interrupted his thoughts as a distraction. “Er, has Lili ever played any sports?”

“No,” Vash replied, pausing momentarily in glaring at Kaoru. “She was delicate as a child and was never able to handle heat or overexertion.”

“Oh.” Arthur thought on this new piece of information. He’d never really thought about _why_ Vash was so overprotective and had assumed that it had to do with the same reason they never mentioned their parents. He hadn’t thought about Lili overdoing it. All the same, shouldn’t it be Lili’s call to make whether or not she was pushing herself beyond her own capabilities? She was inside her own skin, after all.

Vash was growing surlier by the minute. “Where is she? She said she’d meet me here.” When Arthur didn’t reply, he crossed his arms, scrutinizing Kaoru again. “Do you think it’s possible she wants to come here for _him_?”

Unsure whether the statement was a question or rhetorical, Arthur felt himself beginning to sweat. Did Vash have a gun in his knapsack? The Swiss man seemed to have an innumerable horde of them. Putting aside his gunsmith store, the few times Arthur glimpsed inside his apartment, he’d seen racks of weapons on display. Were they all for decoration or…? Surely he wouldn't hold Kaoru at gunpoint in his own dojo… When did it get this hot in here? He pulled at his hem, trying to move air under his shirt.

Kaoru approached the edge of the mat and addressed the audience, welcoming them and thanking them for coming. He spoke a few words about discipline and respect, but Vash had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through his contacts. “I’m going to call her,” he muttered under his breath. “She must have gotten lost.”

He half-stood, then froze when Lili and the other white belts filed out from a corridor, bowed, and stepped onto the mat. Students of higher belt colors followed, but Vash only followed his sister’s movement with his eyes. Her hair was tied back into two miniscule low pigtails and bobby pins held up the hair that was too short to be contained. She swept the crowd with her eyes, found her brother’s accusatory glare, colored, and stubbornly faced her instructor at the front.

Vash slowly sank back down into his chair, continuing to laser-beam his sister with his eyes. The test commenced. Lili was fifth to test and Vash twitched every time she shouted or struck out. When she was done, he relaxed the smallest amount. Arthur watched him out of his peripheral vision, trying to read his mood. The man was clearly tense, but he wasn’t reaching for any handguns, which was a positive.

He said nothing as the test continued and finished. Other students tested, some strong and some unsure. They all lined up at the end, looking nervously amongst themselves. When called, Lili proudly received her yellow belt, bowing low and grinning at Kaoru, who gave her a rare smile in return. Someone rang a gong, and the test was over.

Lili dawdled on the mat, avoiding her brother’s eyes, but she couldn’t hide forever. Kaoru paused behind her as he carried a box into the back, and said something Arthur couldn’t hear. Whatever his words, Lili nodded and steeled herself before striding nervously toward the two men waiting. Arthur reached out to hug her as she approached, then remembered who he was standing beside and quickly switched to awkward clapping.

“Well done,” he said heartily, trying to grin past his own anxiety. “Had no idea a mite like you could kick that high.”

His praise was well appreciated, but Lili dismissed it gently, her own nervousness quelling her pride at her accomplishments. Her jade eyes darted around, looking everywhere she could justify before finally meeting her brother’s hard gaze. “B-Big brother…! I’m so glad you came and…well, as you can see, I’ve been taking some self-defense lessons and I-I’m having a lot of fun and--”

Vash cut her off. “We’ll talk about this when we get home. We’re leaving now.” His tone brooked no defiance, but Lili paled and shrank back.

“W-why aren’t you pleased? I know I hid it from you but you’re always worried that I’ll get hurt when I’m by myself and--”

“And what? Now you think you can take on anything that comes your way? Ridiculous.”

“N-no, of course not,” Lili said.

“I’ve structured our lives around keeping you safe since Mom and Dad left. I walk you home when you’re finished at work. I arrange for escorts when I can’t leave the store. Have I not done enough?”

Lili tripped over her words as she hurried to answer. “No! I mean, yes! You’ve always protected me, Big Brother. I-I thought I could ease your burden a little…”

“You’re not a burden,” Vash said shortly. “Keeping you safe and happy is my life. I don’t take all these precautions for no reason.”

“Yes, but maybe you won’t have to worry because I can learn to take care of myself!”

Vash cut his eyes away in irritation. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ll worry twice as much because of this. Now that you’ve learned a few tricks, you’ll feel a false sense of security and won’t be as vigilant. People don’t get hurt from too much caution, they get hurt from too much confidence.” His words lashed Lili, who gaped in shock. “What did you think you were going to accomplish?”

She blinked, trying to think and hold back tears at the same time. “I thought…if you trusted me…m-maybe you’d let me go places by myself and…and maybe…someday…go on a d-date…”

As sharply as a whip, Vash threw her own words back in her face. “You wanted more trust so you lied to me? Listen to yourself.” He shook his head as her latter words finally registered. “Dating? So it _is_ about that boy, isn’t it? Unbelievable. We’re leaving.” He threw a venomous look over her shoulder at Kaoru, who was watching from across the dojo. “Kaoru. I know you’re listening. If I catch you near my sister again, you’re going to regret it intensely. Understood?”

Kaoru didn’t reply, but Lili scowled, tears finally spilling down her face. “Don't talk to him like that! I’m nineteen and I can decide--”

“As long as you’re in my house, you’ll live by my rules!” Vash said firmly, raising his voice to match hers. “Period! And if you have enough money to spend on lessons, you can contribute more to the household expenses! I’m disappointed in you, Lili.”

He turned to leave, but she stayed rooted to her spot, tears still bubbling up. She wiped them with the sleeve of her white dobok and breathed heavily. When she didn’t follow, Vash turned with sharp eyes, but her face stopped his words. “I’m!” she shouted, trying to push out the words before she regretted them. “Moving out!” She gripped the hem of her top and stuck her chin out.

The remaining audience members, who had been chatting amongst themselves, turned to look at her and, feeling the weight of the atmosphere, scooted out the door with haste. Vash was finally lost for words. “What…?”

“I’ve done the math,” Lili said miserably. “I can afford a smaller, cheaper apartment between my job and my loans. If you won’t give me any freedom, I’ll just…have to take it myself!”

Words continued to evade Vash. He stood for a solid minute, barely breathing, then blinked a bit and exhaled heavily. “So the day has come it seems. I thought for sure I had a couple more years.”

Lili examined his face carefully, trying to parse out his emotions. “Big…Brother?”

Instead of anger, Vash’s countenance sank into something akin to a depressed sheepishness. “I disagree with your decisions wholeheartedly, Lili. You should know that.” He sighed again and faced his sister directly. “But if you’re willing to go to such lengths, I can’t very well ignore it, can I?” When she didn’t respond, he tightened his grip on his knapsack strap. “I’m leaving. Be back before dark.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do with his own face as Vash turned and walked out of the dojo. He had the feeling he’d just seen something he shouldn’t have, so he studied his loafers and waited for Lili to make the first move. She sniffled a few times, but her voice was steady when she spoke again. “Sorry for all of this, Arthur…”

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur’s head snapped up and he waved his hands reassuringly. “Don’t apologize! I had no idea you had been thinking about moving out.”

“I’ve been playing with numbers and ideas for a little while.”

“If this is what you feel is right, I shall stand behind you,” the angel said solidly. “I imagine your brother will, too, once he gets over having his status quo turned bum-upwards.”

Lili made a guilty face, but the tears had cleared from her eyes. “I really am grateful for Big Brother and all he does for me. He just goes overboard a bit, that’s all. I know he means well.”

Now that the stress had drained from the situation, the sweat on Arthur’s face and back was turning cold and a wave of exhaustion swept over him. “You should tell him that when you go home. I think he’d like to hear that. I’m going to head back myself.”

“Are you alright? You look pale,” Lili asked, stepping closer and peering in his face.

“I think I’ll go lay down,” Arthur admitted. “I might be picking up a bit of a cold.”

“Do you need me to walk you home?”

Arthur shook his head. “No need. Besides, there’s someone who I think would like to talk to you without me present.” He threw a cheeky wink at Kaoru, who was still lingering on the other side of the mat, watching Lili. “Once again, good work and thanks for the invite. I’m chuffed I could see you get your belt.”

A few of the other students and their families were whispering in the dojo foyer as he walked through on his way out the door, but he ignored them and focused on staying upright. The cold sweat hadn’t abated and he felt nauseated. As he stepped out into the sunlight, he squinted against the brightness. The cool interior of the building had been relaxing and he wasn’t looking forward to the walk home. _Blimey_ , he thought, putting one foot mechanically in front of the other and using his muscle memory instead of conscious thought to steer himself home. _I feel like last week’s pudding warmed up._ Exhaustion washed over him again and he wondered for a moment if he would even make it home or if he needed to stop somewhere for a drink or something to keep him going. _No use. Better to get back to the flat as fast as possible._

 _Daft demons and family unrest, all in one day._ It was too much for one angel to reasonably deal with. _I really do feel like rubbish. Can human doctors treat angels? Would I be found out if I nipped to a clinic?_ There was a chemist on the way home, but he didn’t want to stop. Maybe he _was_ coming down with some human illness on top of his usual problems. What would a doctor see if they tested his blood?

The path blurred in front of him, but he hardly noticed. _I should tell Alfred not to get too close to me so he doesn't catch anything_. A fever would put his boyfriend out of practice and games for days. Not to mention Alfred was likely to be a baby about the whole thing and insist on cuddling as a cure. He was insufferable enough with sore muscles or tweaked tendons.

 _Where am I?_ Arthur wondered in a daze. He stopped and looked about, but didn’t recognize the shops nearby. A couple of passersby slowed to ogle him as he put a hand up to his forehead, feeling heat against his palm. _Where’s Alfred? I should call him…_

oOoOo

For the first time in months, Arthur remembered Shelly and was surprised how clearly he could see her face. She’d been his friend for years, after all, and the shape of her eyes was nearly as familiar to him as his own. Her mouth quirked in the teasing smirk with which he was so well acquainted and her skin, much darker than his own, was glowing with an internal light. The realization that he’d never been able to contact her hit him and he frowned deeply. Had she been worried this whole time? Had she figured out what had happened when she found the hole, widened by his terrified attempts to hold on when he fell?

Ah, he missed her. She always had the best suggestions for how to spend a pleasant day together. Had she found the Cloud Boars’ lair while he was gone? Was she happy among her Helper friends or was she alone now in the Advanced Cadets’ quarters, passing the hours in her own dim glow? The thought made his heart twinge. Like he himself, she had few friends and no social net, which is how they had found each other.

Even if she wanted to cry, she couldn’t. Tears wouldn’t flow in Heaven. It was a place so unlike Earth, where humans had the privilege of unbridled suffering.

Indeed, he’d never had the experience of crying, but he felt almost as if he could as Shelly’s smiling face disappeared from view. He reached for her, but his hand met only empty space. A buzzing was growing from somewhere around him, but Shelly’s glow had faded and was quickly being replaced by a harsh, artificial light that stung like needles on his eyes. _Bloody hell_ , he thought, squirming. _Bugger this whole day and let me sleep_.

“He’s waking up!” A voice said somewhere above his head. The feeling of being in his own body came crashing down upon him like ocean waves and he fluttered his eyelids open, confused.

“Dude!” Alfred yelped, lurching forward and gathering the angel in his arms. “You scared the milkshake outta me!”

Matthew peered around his twin and grimaced. “Al, try not to jostle him too much. He might have hit his head when he fell.”

Trying to fight against Alfred’s embrace was like trying to escape iron bands, so Arthur gave up quickly and settled for looking around as much as he could. His head pounded and he felt a deep chill inside his core, despite the blankets piled atop him. He was in his small bed back at 914. Alfred had pulled up a chair next to the bed, but was now flung atop his boyfriend, still bubbling about how glad he was that Arthur was awake. Matt, Kiku, Emma, and Elizabeta were gathered around the two, wide-eyed but smiling now. “Geez, Arthur, what were you tryin’ to do?” Emma asked, exasperated and anxious.

“Wazzat…?” Arthur said, maneuvering himself to where he could breathe better. “What happened?”

Alfred released him and examined his face closely, which didn’t help Arthur’s fever. “Emma saw you stumbling around near the park, dude.”

“I went out to see if you were okay, but you dropped like a sack of walnuts before I could reach you!” Emma said, biting her lip. “How are you feeling now?”

Before Arthur replied, Alfred patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Artie, I told her not to call the Emergency Services. I didn’t know if that would be okay since, uh…” He threw a glance over his shoulder at the girls, who looked back, nonplussed. “Well, you don’t, uh, have insurance, you know.”

“You’re thinking of the States again. We have national healthcare, you clod,” Elizabeta reminded him. “Remember when Gil had just come from Germany and fractured his wrist because he mixed up the words for ‘pot hole’ and ‘pet shop’?”

Alfred’s eyes flew back to Arthur’s face as he wordlessly pleaded for help. “It’s, er, a special problem with my visa,” the angel explained. “I have to pay a fee for the first year.”

“Right! Visa! Fees!” Alfred repeated confidently.

Elizabeta’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you say so, but that sounds illegal. What country did you come from, anyway?”

“Er,” Arthur floundered.

Kiku cleared his throat pointedly and the others looked at him. “Forgive my interruption, but I think Arthur has had enough excitement for today. It would promote timely healing if we let him return to sleep.”

“Ah!” Elizabeta gasped. “You’re right! We’re sorry for taking up your time.”

She pulled Emma to the door, but the blonde turned back before leaving. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right? Lizzie and I can make a supply run if you find yourselves lacking.”

Matthew nodded. “I’ll tell you in a heartbeat. Let me walk you out.”

The throng left, leaving Alfred and Arthur alone in the light of the lamp on the bedside table. “I apologize for the fuss,” Arthur said.

Alfred scowled at him. “Seriously, dude? You fall out in the street and apologize to _us_? We should have noticed that you weren’t feeling well earlier. I thought you were a little off at the game this morning.” He sighed and his glasses slipped down his nose a bit. “Really, I was terrified. What happened?”

Unsure how to answer, Arthur looked down at his hands. What _had_ happened? “I think I’ve caught some Earth illness that my body wasn’t prepared to fight.” He laid back against the pillows, deeply tired.

“Does…this have anything to do with the Halfway Sickness the demons mentioned?” Alfred looked uncomfortable asking, as if he didn’t want to even speak the words.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut until lights burst behind his lids. “I don’t know,” he said, telling the truth if not the _whole_ truth.

He felt a kiss pressed to his forehead. “Just sleep now,” Alfred said softly. “We can figure it out later.” The American switched off the lamp and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Arthur relaxed into his mattress, breathing heavily. Later. They would always figure it out later. How many ‘later’s did he have? How could he finish the Program and leave in time?

There was an unfamiliar prickle in his eyes and wanted to cry, but couldn’t seem to find how to let the tears flow. Swallowing back emotion, he fell back asleep instead.

oOoOo

Under Alfred’s clumsy but well-intentioned nursing, Arthur gradually felt better over the next few days and decided that he had, indeed, caught some virus. The underlying fatigue and headache persisted, but the horrible, gnawing inner chill dissipated as he rested. So comfortable at home was he that he very nearly forgot his important plans on Tuesday and had to have Matt rush him to Antonio’s Musical Surplus on his scooter.

He thanked Matt and stumbled through the door just as Romano’s previous student was checking out at the front counter. Antonio looked up and grinned. “Hola, amigo!” He called out cheerfully. “Glad to see you! Emma said you were sick—are you feeling better?”

“You better not still be sick,” Romano growled, staring at the angel suspiciously. “Stay away from me and go back to bed if you are.”

“Ha ha Romano, shut up and don’t be rude to customers,” Antonio chided under the guise of laughter.

Romano chuckled back with his teeth gritted. “Make me, _cabrón_.”

“I’m feeling better, thanks,” Arthur said quickly, seeing sparks fly between the two. “Let’s just do our lesson.” He hurried past the Italian, hoping not to start anything and ruin his plans.

The lesson went well, but Arthur found himself having trouble holding the guitar. After nearly losing his grip for the fourth time, Romano grunted. “If you’re not feeling back to one hundred percent, let’s cut the lesson short this time. Overworking yourself won’t do you any good.”

Arthur glanced up at the clock. He still had fifteen minutes until Francis was scheduled to come in. He tightened his grip and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, readjusting the instrument on his lap.

Romano watched him impassively and rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself, you damn try-hard.”

When time finally expired, Arthur went back out into the store and lingered near the front. Antonio made eye contact with him, assuring him silently that he hadn’t forgotten their agreement. “Romano,” he called to the back. “I have a new shipment of ukulele strings that came in this morning. Help me sort them, eh?”

A pause, then Romano slouched out of the back and took the box his boss held out. “Did you get the D’Addario sopranos this time? Some of my students have been complaining about the quality of the brand we usually carry.”

“I sure did, little tomato,” Antonio chuckled. “I also found this—oh! Hola! Welcome to Antonio’s, amigo! How can I help you?” The bell over the door had jingled as a customer entered the shop. Antonio left the box in his employee’s hands and returned to the front desk.

Francis swept in with all the sexual magnetism he could muster, which was a fair amount for an idiot. Arthur’s heart sped up when he recognized the demon, and he hurried to look like he was searching for something in his guitar bag. _It’s happening!_ He thought, fishing through sheaves of music homework. “Ah, ‘ello,” Francis purred, approaching the cash register. “You wouldn’t ‘appen to be ze titular Antonio, would you?”

“I sure would,” Antonio said proudly. “I don’t recognize _you_ , though, I’m afraid.”

“Really? ‘ow ‘urtful,” Francis said, wounded. “We met ze ozzer day when I left my wallet in my car and was stranded at ze coffee shop. You paid for my _noisette_ and croissant. You truly don’t remember?”

Antonio looked at him for a long time, tossed a quick glance in Arthur’s direction, then snapped his fingers. “Ho! Yes! I _do_ remember you! Good to see you again, amigo!”

“Ze pleasure is all mine,” Francis said, taking Antonio’s hand and kissing his knuckles softly. Romano, who hadn’t been paying much attention until now, turned to send a sizzling glare at the demon. Francis ignored him completely and leaned in closer to Antonio. “I ‘aven’t been able to forget your face since zat day. Luckily, I saw you ze ozzer morning, opening zis shop. It took me a couple of days to gazzer ze courage, I’m afraid, but ‘ere I am at last.”

“…Eh?” Antonio replied, unused to having the full force of demon charm turned on him.

“What I’ve come to ask is zis,” Francis said, allowing himself to bashfully look away for a moment. “Would you ‘ave dinner wiz me tonight? I can’t let a flower like you fall from my fingers so easily.”

Romano smirked at his words and went back to sorting the small packages on a display stand, confident in Antonio’s reply. Antonio blushed deeply despite himself. He’d known something like this was going to happen, but expecting an event was different from experiencing it. “Well,” he said weakly, scratching his neck. “What time did you have in mind?”

The smirk dropped like a rock from Romano’s face and he whirled around to stare at his boss. Francis’ own infuriating smile grew wider. “What time does your store close?”

“Six-thirty,” Antonio answered.

“We could meet at seven-thirty, what do you zink? Give you enough time?”

“That would work just fine. Did you have a place picked out or…?”

Francis stepped back from the counter. “Meet me near ze map in ze Square. We can decide zen.”

Antonio grinned, still red. “I’ll see you then, amigo.”

“I look forward to it,” Francis replied. “Au revoir.” He shot the most sly and smuggest of glances at Romano before sweeping out the door and away down the sidewalk.

Arthur stopped fiddling with his bag and looked at the Italian, who was clearly outraged beyond words. Antonio also noticed his face and chuckled. “What’s wrong, little tomato? Didn’t think I had it in me, did you? It’s being raised under all the Spanish sun—makes me irresistible. Not that you’d know, eh? Maybe I should close early today…”

Either ignoring or forgetting that Arthur was still there, Romano squeezed his fists, busting a couple of the colorful ukulele string packets. “Oi,” Antonio shouted. “Watch what you’re doing! That’s good merchandise!”

Romano dropped the packets and stomped over to the still flushed Spaniard. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

“Closing early,” Antonio replied, trying to sound confused but clearly enjoying himself. “What are you doing?”

Romano spluttered, also red in the face. “What do you think you’re doing, accepting a date from some stranger off the street? Are you an idiot?”

Antonio spoke carefully, like he was speaking to mentally damaged toddler. “That’s how you meet friends and lovers, amigo. You talk to strangers and then they’re not strangers anymore. You should try it.”

“What about Emma?” Romano demanded.

“Emma?” Antonio opened the cash register and took out a handful of money to count.

“You remember her, yeah?” Romano shouted. “Your lover? You’re gonna cheat on her?”

Antonio laughed, still counting. “My _what_?”

“Your girlfriend, you unutterable bastard!”

The laughter died and Antonio finally looked Romano square in the eyes. “Emma isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

Romano stopped shaking in anger and the two men stared at each other like statues. “W-what?” Romano said, confusion etched into his face. “But you two…you’re always together. You opened stores next to each other.”

“She’s my cousin, little tomato,” Antonio explained, surprised by Romano’s strong reaction to what he’d thought would have been obvious. “She’s mother’s little sister’s daughter.”

Romano shook his head, still processing this information. “But she…she spends the night at your apartment sometimes.”

“Like I said, she’s _familia_. Family is always welcome in my house, no exceptions or conditions.” The full weight of how misled Romano had been was hitting Antonio and he frowned at his employee. “After her mother died, my Mamá told me to keep an eye on her. We’ve known each other for years, amigo. How did you not know this about me?”

“You never told me!” Romano protested.

“You never asked!” Antonio shot back. “You’ve never seemed to care about my family or past. Why would I bring it up?”

Romano tilted his head to the side just slightly, taken aback and wounded by the stark truth of the words. He’d never asked so as not to seem too interested. Antonio was always open and talkative and he’d assumed that if something was important, he would tell him without being prompted. He hadn’t thought about the consequences of successfully seeming uninterested in Antonio’s life—he’d thought listening to anything the other man wanted to share would be enough. If he wasn’t with Emma…this meant… “Have you been single this whole time?” He asked accusingly.

“I’ve been trying to get this business off the ground and clean up after your temper tantrums. Doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating, does it?”

“You’re single?” Romano asked again, his voice changing in pitch a bit and the angry color fading from his face.

Antonio threw up his hands, scattering a few paper bills. “Haven’t gotten a lot of interest. Not my choice. I guess others thought I was with Emma too, or you scared them away with your attitude!”

Arthur thought back to when Romano told him that he chased off all of Antonio’s admirers because he thought Antonio was with Emma. So he really _had_ ruined the older man’s love life, hadn’t he? He hadn’t even meant to, probably. Romano seemed to be going down the same train of thought, but refused to let guilt show on his face. “Well!” He shouted, clenching his fists again.

“’Well’ what?” Antonio said tiredly.

“What about me?” Romano asked loudly, standing stiffly.

Antonio stopped counting the bills in the register and dropped his hands, looking at Romano in true shock. “What about you?” He repeated.

“Why not…why not try going out with me?”

“What…what in the hell are you talking about, Romano?” Antonio asked weakly. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Romano mumbled. When Antonio stared at him, he raised his voice. “I don’t hate you, I said! I actually…that’s…ugh…” he flushed again, even more deeply than before. “I’ve always…I mean…” He covered his face with one hand, too flustered to continue. “Just go out with me, you bastard!”

Antonio continued to stare at him, genuinely shocked at the way this conversation had developed. This wasn’t how he’d imagined the day would end. After a moment, with Romano getting more worked up by the second, he slowly started counting the money again. “No,” he said softly.

His answer hung in the air and Romano blinked. “Wha…why not?” He demanded. “You said yes to some asshole you didn’t even know. I’m way better than that guy.”

“Romano.” Antonio closed the register and put his hands on the counter, his face more serious than Arthur had ever seen it. “You treat me like shit. Every minute of every day.”

Romano stared at him, his teeth clenched. He couldn’t deny it. “That’s…” he began.

“You curse me constantly. You laugh when bad things happen to me. I’ve lost untold business because of you. No matter how many times I reach out to you, you've always rejected my friendship and then mocked me for trying.” Antonio was trying hard to breathe evenly, Arthur could tell. A quick flicker of angel vision and the man’s regret and pain was displayed for Arthur to see. At the same time, however, there was determination and anger. Antonio meant what he was saying. “You’ve never tried to be a friend to me, now you want to be lovers? You’re the last person I could see myself dating, Romano.”

Romano stepped back as if the words were a gust of icy wind. He gritted his teeth harder and closed his eyes, then relaxed his shoulders. He had nothing, no platform to stand on to even begin to deny Antonio’s words. Anger bubbled in his stomach, but he had nowhere to direct it except at himself. As used to self-loathing as he was, this still hurt in a fresh way. Everything he’d wanted and tried to protect…it turned out he’d screwed it all up himself anyway. “Heh,” he chuckled, opening his eyes and staring at the ground. “So that’s how it is…” He turned his back to Antonio and calmly walked away, but Arthur could see the hot, angry tears falling down his face as he went into the back room and closed the door.

There they were again—those beautiful, unattainable tears. Arthur slowly turned to look at Antonio, but the man’s back was turned toward him and he wasn’t speaking. Guilt blossomed in Arthur’s heart. This was all technically his fault, after all. “I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly, shuffling past the counter to the door.

Antonio turned around and smiled weakly, his face dry but sad. “No, no, amigo. Thank you. This needed to happen. I’m glad. Truly.”

Arthur nodded and left. This wasn’t what could be called a ‘positive’ change, was it?

When he got home that night, however, a silver Major crystal had appeared in his box. Tilting his head, he could read the words engraved upon it: _Antonio Carriedo_. Arthur tilted the box to look more closely, but there were no other words and no other crystals had materialized. Whatever had happened with Romano, it clearly hadn’t been enough. He sighed and sank down on his bed, spinning the crystal with one finger and watching it turn furious circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis is good at what he does. Maybe too good??


	16. Detestable

“I’m very offended,” Francis huffed the next day. “’e stood me up. I waited in ze square all evening. I was going to take ‘im to a lovely little patisserie zat came highly recommended in all ze tourist pamphlets.”

Toris and Feliks patted his shoulder comfortingly, but Arthur rolled his eyes. “The plan was never that you were actually going to date him, you knob. You did your part just as I wanted and it worked very well.” _A little too well_ , he admitted privately. “Thank you.”

“It was ze least I could do for a friend from ze Outer Shell. Say no more!” Francis said, though his face indicated that he would actually like more praise.

Arthur didn’t have the energy to snip at him like usual and just sighed. The demons noticed and looked at each other, worried. “Like, how long have you been here on Earth anyway?” Feliks asked somberly.

“Five months and one day,” Arthur replied dully.

Toris grimaced. “Are you…pretty close to finishing your Program? You have to be, right?”

Arthur looked from one face to the next and lied smoothly. “I am,” he said. “Shouldn’t be much longer now.” As much as the demons annoyed him, he couldn’t saddle them with the truth. It would surely put a damper on, if not ruin, their holiday.

His words brightened Feliks up. “Oh, good! Still, you better, like, hurry it up. Don’t make me go all worrywart on you!”

Francis stretched his arms above his head, enjoying the late spring sunshine. “And ‘ow ‘ave you decided to finish it wiz loverboy?”

Arthur wished miserably that these demons would just shut up about the whole business. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he had to do and the timing in which he had to do it. He spent enough brainpower worrying about it himself; he didn’t need buggering Hell-spawn hanging on the mental bell every time he turned around. “I’m still working on it,” he replied, avoiding eye contact. “How long do you have left in Britannia?” He asked, eager to change the subject.

Feliks’ face immediately sank into a pout. “We leave on Thursday. The forecast in Sheol says the higanbana should be in full bloom by this weekend, so we need to get our tushies on the move.”

“I’m going to drop by my hometown for a week or so to see my family for the annual River Blooms festival, then I’m going to Lithuania for six months,” Toris explained. “There’s a long-term demon community there that has agreed to host me while I work on my thesis.”

“I want to go to Lithuania,” Feliks grumbled.

“I’ll take you with me the next place I go, I promise,” Toris said solemnly. “Bear with me these next few months.”

Francis also pouted a bit, looking peevishly down the walking path and back towards the park entrance. “I should ‘ave liked to ‘ave gotten at least _one_ date while we were ‘ere,” he bemoaned. “I ‘ad ‘oped ‘umans would ‘ave better tastes in dating partners zan demons.”

“That, like, music guy or whatever said yes,” Feliks reminded him.

“ _Pshaw_. ‘e stood me up.”

After a moment of thought, Feliks spoke again. “There was that woman at the bookstore who, like, gave you her number.”

Francis frowned more deeply at the remembrance. “What I called ze number, it was ze number for a goat farm.”

“Maybe she worked at the farm, you goof. Didja think of that?”

“She told me to ask for Daisy. Ze farmer told me Daisy is ze farm’s oldest goat.”

“Was she a _pretty_ goat?”

Francis narrowed his eyes. “You are not ‘elping,” he informed his friend.

Arthur stood up, silencing the bickering demons. “I think I’m going to go home and rest,” he announced. “I need to think about my next project.”

“Will we see you before we leave?” Toris asked.

“If you like,” Arthur replied, swinging the strap of his messenger bag over his head. “We can have a bit of a goodbye dinner on Wednesday. I’ll bring Al if I can. So long for now.”

The three friends watched him trudge away toward the exit gate. They were silent among themselves as he disappeared from view around a corner. Francis spoke finally, pity in his voice. “And zat, my friends, is why relationships between ze species is such a bad idea.”

Feliks frowned. “I thought it was because humans are, like, ignorant and angels are twats.”

“Zat also,” Francis agreed.

oOoOo

Napping did little improve Arthur’s mental state. When he awoke, it was late in the evening and he could hear someone rummaging about in the kitchen. He sat up, rubbing his head, and begrudgingly slipped from beneath his warm blankets. A quick check of his box showed no new crystals (though he hadn’t expected any) and the empty hollows seemed to stare accusingly at him. The largest hollow in the middle, reserved for the Flapstone, looked particularly menacing. Arthur rubbed the hollow with his finger, feeling the smoothness of the Heaven-wrought woodwork.

The Flapstone…someone with whom you’d made a deep personal connection. _If that’s all it is,_ Arthur thought, frowning, _why hasn’t Alfred counted yet? What else has to be done?_ He closed the box and puzzled over the matter as he dressed. Did he have to make a positive change in the Flapstone’s life, also? Or did Alfred not count because Arthur had violated the unspoken inter-Dimensional rule of not forming romantic relationships with other species? He wished he had more guidelines than the instruction letter Heaven had sent months ago.

Alfred and Matt were eating ham sandwiches in the living room when Arthur emerged, hair neatly combed after his nap. Kiku was nowhere to be seen. Alfred noticed his boyfriend and waved at him cheerfully. “Sup, sleepyhead! How was your nap? Feeling better?”

“A bit,” Arthur replied. “Where’s Kiku?”

“He had to stay at work late today,” Matt answered after swallowing. “Things must be getting busy for him over there; he’s rarely home anymore.”

Arthur looked away. “You’re…probably right. He seems like a hard working fellow.”

Matt nodded in agreement and turned his attention back to a hockey game on the television. For as much as he rolled his eyes at his twin’s obsession with football, he was rather high strung during hockey games. His eyes followed the puck on the screen and, when one player body checked another, he leapt off the couch, scattering crisps on the carpet. “THAT WAS DIRTY! GET THESE GOONS OFF THE ICE!” He yelled, shaking his sandwich at the screen. “That’s right!” He nodded self-righteously. “Into the penalty box with you. Unbelievable.”

Alfred watched his twin with amused eyes. Only after finishing his sandwich did he remember that he had news for his boyfriend. “Oh! Artie!”

“Don’t call me that,” Arthur groused, his face in the refrigerator.

“Yeah, whatever, Artie. Listen, I had some news to tell you.” The American rose from his seat to bring his plate into the kitchen.

Arthur pulled a container of leftover lasagna out of the fridge and popped it open. “It’s _Arthur._ I’m listening.”

“First,” Alfred began, turning on the faucet and running his dish under the water. “Stay away from Vash for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“Lili moved out. She got a student apartment closer to the university and moved in with a roommate. I think she’s Vietnamese. Anyway, Vash thinks you encouraged her to rebel or something.”

Arthur froze. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “He’s going to shoot me. I knew it would come to this. I need to leave town immediately.” He could pack his things quickly—it wasn’t like he had much to begin with.

Shaking his head, Alfred reached out and snagged Arthur by the wrist, preventing him from leaving the room. “No, dum-dum. He’s not gonna shoot you.”

“You’ve seen the inside of his apartment! He’s a gun nut! He owns a gun shop, for goodness sake!” Arthur babbled in a panic.

“Hey, in America having tons of guns is normal, you know.”

“What?” Arthur gaped at his boyfriend. “Unacceptable! Does everyone just shoot at each other all the time? Duels at high noon? How many times have you been shot?”

Alfred squinted, irritated. “You’re being an idiot. That’s not even remotely accurate. Also, Vash isn’t going to shoot you, but he may punch you in your dumb angel face if you get too close.”

“How do you know this?”

“He told me so,” Alfred answered matter-of-factly. “Of course, then I told him I’d have to kill him if he laid a finger on you. He didn’t like that so much.”

“What, you’d shoot him with your giant American guns?” Arthur asked, half serious and half trying to push his boyfriend’s buttons to hide his happiness at Alfred’s protectiveness.

A vein began pulsing in Alfred’s forehead. “Y’know, on second thought, maybe you should go knock on Vash’s door and see what happens. I’ll film.”

Pleased that his bait had worked, Arthur grabbed Alfred’s collar and pulled him down a few inches so their faces were even. “You’d like that, you slimy git.” The proximity of Alfred’s face and the playful electricity sparking between them sent warmth through the angel’s body and into his core. Alfred’s eyes flicked down to the other’s lips and they both wondered just _how_ absorbed Matt was in his hockey game and whether he’d need anything from the kitchen for the next few minutes.

When the lock turned on the door, neither had any attention to spare, but they pulled apart as soon as someone flicked the lights at them. “Gah! Keeks! Where’d you come from?” Alfred asked, flushing. Arthur shoved away from him, hard, and turned his face to avoid eye contact.

Kiku’s face was tired and empty. “My apologies. I came to get the electric kettle.” He shuffled past them, grabbed the appliance, and shuffled back to the door. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

Alfred’s face tweaked in a way Arthur couldn’t name, and he ran his hands through his hair as Kiku closed the door behind himself. When he sighed, Arthur looked up at him with worry. Alfred caught his glance and quickly grinned, but the expression was pained. “Don’t worry about it, Artie. I just…feel a little guilty or something.”

“What would you have to feel guilty about?” Arthur asked. Sure, he knew why _he_ should feel like a tosser, but what reason did Alfred have?

Alfred shrugged a little and pulled Arthur close to him again. “Ah, it’s just…Keeks. He and I used to be pretty close. Seems like things have changed since…uh…I dunno.”

“Since I showed up,” Arthur finished the statement.

“Uh…well,” Alfred dithered, not wanting to admit it outright. “Yeah.” He rubbed Arthur’s back soothingly. “I don’t think it’s anything you should worry about. We had always gotten along really well, but he started acting a little weird a few weeks before you came. I guess with all the hubbub, I forgot to ask him what had been bothering him so much. I’ve been a pretty bad friend, now that I think about it.” He snapped his fingers. “I should go chase him down and ask him what’s going on.”

Arthur held on to him tightly, unwilling to let go. His mind screamed at him to let go, to let this natural event take its course, but his body refused to cooperate. “Don’t go,” he murmured, squeezing him even closer.

Rumbling spread through Alfred’s torso as he laughed. “This isn’t like you at all,” he said. “What are you jealous for? It’s just Keeks.”

Arthur leapt back, face afire. “I am not jealous! The very idea!” He crossed his arms over his sweater vest and huffed. “Do what you like. It doesn’t matter to me.”

With an infuriatingly smug grin, Alfred reached out and poked Arthur’s cheek. “Now that’s more like it.” Ignoring Arthur’s outrage, he retrieved trainers from the hall closet and slipped them on. As he was lacing the second one up, the front door lock turned once more and swung open to reveal Kiku framed in the doorway. Forgetting to finish the laces, Alfred stood in greeting. “Keeks! I was just about to come find you!”

Usually such a statement would have piqued the Japanese man’s interest, but tonight his eyes were firmly set on Arthur. “My apologies, Alfred. I was wondering if Arthur would accompany me back to work? It’s dark and I know he likes to take a walk around this time.”

“I’ll walk with you guys!”

Kiku shook his head. “Just Arthur tonight. I’ve rarely had the opportunity to talk with him one-on-one, you see.”

Dread pooled in Arthur’s stomach and he could feel himself sweating around the collar. He owed Kiku this, though, didn’t he? Alfred pouted, unhappy at being excluded. After a deep breath, Arthur put a smile on his face and nodded. “Splendid idea. I did fancy a walk tonight.” He pulled his loafers on slowly as Alfred took his own shoes off. When he was finished, he put his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling. “Ready?”

Kiku nodded and the two stepped outside the apartment, closing the door behind them. Neither said a word in the stairwell or the front lobby, and the heavy silence persisted until they had traveled a couple of blocks away from the apartment building. The constant dread was torture and Arthur was about to say something smart when Kiku stopped and sat on a bench facing the lamp-lit street. “Please, sit.”

Arthur sat, his hands still in his pockets. The breeze was warm and brought the smell of newly mown grass. Crickets chirped brightly from somewhere under the bench and Arthur realized it was the beginning of his first and last summer in this town. As if he’d read the angel’s mind, Kiku spoke from his side. “How much longer will you be here?”

“What?” Arthur was startled. He hadn’t shared any news with Kiku.

A small flicker of guilt sprang to life in Kiku’s eyes, but was extinguished just as quickly. “I overheard Alfred talking to Matthew the other day,” he explained. “He said you have an illness that limits your time on Earth.” When Arthur didn’t agree or deny it, he pressed on. “He didn’t say how much time you had, though. I want to know how much longer you’ll be here. Decades? Years?”

Arthur laughed, a painful, dry sound, and shook his head. Kiku knit his brows together. “Months?” He asked. Arthur shook his head again and Kiku’s indignation grew. “Weeks?”

“If I’m lucky,” Arthur answered, tilting his head up to look at the night sky. The street lamps all but blocked the stars out, turning the sky into an endless inky void.

“But this will go away if you finish earning your wings, right?” Again Arthur stonewalled the question, continuing to stare up. Kiku wanted to shake him. “How close are you to being finished?” He asked.

Arthur sighed deeply, finally bringing his gaze down to the other man. “I’m not,” he admitted.

“How much more do you have?”

Shuffling the grass with his feet, the angel began to count on his fingers. “I have to have four major changes, five minor changes, and one extra-intensive case study. In the five months and some odd days since I’ve been here, I’ve completed…” Yao. Gilbert. Antonio. “Three majors…” Im-Young. Elizabeta. Lili. “…and three minors.”

Kiku frowned. “So that leaves one major, two minors, and your case study.”

“Precisely. Making changes is so much easier in Heaven…there’s a huge building dedicated to observation and nuanced, undetectable influences. On Earth everything has to be done by hand and still somehow not be directly attributed or traced back to the person doing the work. There’s a reason no angels come down and do the Program on Earth—it’s impossible.” He laughed again. “It’s a suicide mission. It always was.”

The new information swirled inside Kiku’s head and he struggled to grasp it wholly. “Won’t those in charge of your process help if you explain the situation?”

“Oh, they know,” Arthur replied dully. “They’ve known the whole time. I think they’d be more disappointed if I actually completed the Program and returned. Heaven is the only place where I’m more useless than Earth.”

“And there’s no one to help? Parents? Family?”

Arthur shook his head. “Angels never know their parents. We’re supposed to all be one big family without factions.”

“Friends?”

Shelly flashed across Arthur’s mind. Poor lonely, unwanted, wingless Shelly. He should have listened to her. “Nope.”

With the facts laid bare, Kiku wanted to pity Arthur, but he was still too angry. “So you’re just going to give up?” He demanded. “Is that all Alfred means to you?”

The invocation of Alfred’s name surprised the angel and rubbed him the wrong way. “What does Alfred have to do with any of this?” He asked caustically.

“Everything!” Kiku said, louder than Arthur had ever heard the reserved man speak. “If you die, who’s left? Who has to live with the idea that he didn’t try hard enough and fatally failed you? Alfred, that’s who.”

“I don’t need this right--” Arthur began.

Kiku cut him off, face hard. “Alfred never needed this—never needed you! Take responsibility for what you started.” After a moment, he spoke again, his voice harsh. “Can you stay here if you earn your wings? Tell me. Can you stay by Alfred’s side?”

Arthur stared at his shoes, wishing the Dimensions would absorb him here and now. “I don’t know. I doubt it.”

The breeze blew again, ruffling the men’s hair. A dog began barking around the next bend and someone called for it, laughing. Kiku again felt the intense desire to shake the angel, to slap him, but he closed his eyes and breathed slowly. “I’m going to help you.”

Arthur looked at him, confused, surprised, and above all, miserable. “What’s that now?”

“I’m going to help you. In whatever time you have left, we’re going to finish your Program.” Kiku glared at him as he spoke. “One major and two minor changes. We’ll persevere and end this. For Alfred, of course. It would destroy him if you died. He loves you,” he finished, looking away.

Though his heart wanted to give up and just enjoy the time he had left, Arthur felt a new strength build inside him at Kiku’s resolve. “Thank you.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Kiku said coldly. “I think you’re detestable. I really do. You knew this game had no winners, but you played it regardless. How could you do such a thing? What is Alfred to you? A distraction? A trophy? Did you ever give his feelings an honest look beyond what you wanted at the time?”

Arthur wanted to snap, to yell, to protest, to explain that Alfred was never something so insignificant to him. He searched for the words to describe how much Alfred meant to him, how he’d changed his entire paradigm, how he’d made him feel pain and joy he’d never felt before and certainly never would again. He wanted Kiku to understand that falling in love with Alfred wasn’t planned—it was a natural disaster, a hurricane, a typhoon, an earthquake—powerful and unstoppable. He wanted to say all these things, but they died on his lips, tempered by the awareness that his excuses were just that.

Kiku was right. He could have fought harder. Under the iciest examination, the truth was plain to see—he hadn’t wanted to think about where his absence would leave Alfred. It had always been a problem for ‘later,’ and ‘later’ had finally come. His eyes stung, but the relief of tears evaded him still. “Don’t cry,” Kiku scolded. “Let’s make a plan. For Alfred.”

“For Alfred,” Arthur agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst. But Arthur's gonna pull through.   
> ...right?
> 
> @Yumegen746: Probably...


	17. Truce

Alfred was Arthur’s Flapstone, of that there was no doubt, but the question remained of how and what was needed to change to complete the requirement. Kiku proved to be a valuable goldmine of information about the American. “He doesn’t actually like football as much as he claims,” he said, sipping a cup of genmaicha.

The two were seated in a café about ten minutes’ walk from Kiku’s work. The tension of their initial conversation two nights ago had lessened a bit now that they had a common goal to work toward. Regardless, every time Arthur felt that he and the other man could connect in a meaningful way, the words from before resurfaced in his mind: _I think you’re detestable. I really do._ And he was. Even he himself thought so.

Arthur had shared with Kiku all of his notes about what he was trying to accomplish, and his new partner had plenty of suggestions. Mostly, however, he was interested in and suspicious about how Arthur was planning on changing Alfred’s life. Arthur held his own large paper cup of earl grey tea and raised a sizeable eyebrow at Kiku’s words. “How do you figure that? Seems to me he’s batty about it.”

“Alfred’s father was on the Britannia Eagles, as I’m sure he’s told you. According to Alfred, his father’s dream was to see his son on his old team,” Kiku explained. “Alfred is not athletically gifted and if you look at pictures of his family, you can see he is built smaller than his father. The only reason he passed tryouts is because he works so hard to compensate for his lack of natural talent.”

Arthur frowned. “How did his father die?”

“Cancer, though I don’t know what kind.” Kiku sipped his tea. “Sometimes Alfred and Matthew’s little sister, Emily, flies out on school holidays. She was here around Christmastime, right before you arrived. She was the one who told me that their father became obsessed with Alfred and football in the months before he died.”

_Emily_. Arthur had heard that name before…when was it? Right, before he and Alfred started dating. _Tell him that Mom and Emily and Matt and I miss him._ Alfred had said something like that. A little sister, eh? Alfred hadn’t brought her up in conversation since. “What’s she like?” Arthur asked. “Emily, I mean.”

Kiku suddenly looked tired and Arthur almost regretted asking. “She’s…very energetic. She plays softball and runs track at her high school. She always has much to say.”

“So she’s more like Alfred than Matthew?”

Kiku considered the question. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate. She’s as stubborn as Alfred, but she and Matthew both love winter sports and scream at the television so loudly that the Superintendent called us about a noise complaint.” His eyes glassed over, remembering. “She insisted on hotdogs doused in maple syrup every day.”

Arthur cringed. “Bloody disgusting.”

“She and Alfred had a hotdog eating contest the last day she was here. She won.”

This Emily was clearly someone to be reckoned with. Arthur felt a twinge of annoyance that Kiku knew people in Alfred’s family that he didn’t. Did Emily like him? Did she notice his feelings for her brother the same way Arthur had? “At least Matt is the normal one in the family,” he said finally.

A haunted look glazed Kiku’s face. “He was drinking Emily’s leftover maple syrup the entire time…”

“Ah…” Arthur said, unable to think of a response to that bit of information. “Well. How about that.”

Kiku shook his head to clear it. “Anyway, Emily said that Alfred had never expressed interest in American football prior to their father’s cancer. He was what she called a ‘computer nerd’.”

Arthur thought back to his surprise at the sheer number of electronic devices Alfred owned when he first moved in. Under the football magazines and comic books, it seemed like he had an endless supply of gadgets and gaming equipment to fiddle with. The number of gaming consoles he and Matt owned between the two of them was unnecessary, Arthur thought privately. “He is rather partial to video games, isn’t he?”

“He used to be much worse,” Kiku explained. “I moved in only a month or two before he was accepted on the Eagles, and he spent most of his time either at the gym, playing video games, or researching them.”

“Do you think he regrets joining the team?”

Instead of a solid answer, Kiku shrugged. “I wish I were close enough to him to ask.” He frowned a bit at his own words.

A flame of jealousy licked at Arthur’s heart, but he suppressed it. “That’s something a friend could ask, I believe. I could ask, but it would be awkward for me to explain that you and I were talking about him. He’s already depressed enough that we’ve been meeting without him.”

“That might be so,” Kiku replied. “Anyway, let’s think about your other projects. You earned a crystal for Lili, but not Vash, you said.”

Arthur nodded. “Vash must still not see Lili as the adult she wants to be.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Alfred warned me against that idea,” Arthur said, the feeling of fear creeping back over him. Well, either that or nausea. Heaven knew he felt enough of both lately. “Vash blames me in part for her actions.” He looked about the café shiftily as if Vash might be hiding behind a rubbish bin, watching. “Is there a way we could _make_ him see her as mature?”

Kiku thought back to all of his favorite animes. How would a shounen hero handle this situation? “Perhaps we could…yes, I’ve seen this in a series before. We’ll dress you up as a burglar and have you attempt to mug Lili in front of Vash. She can use her martial arts to protect herself and chase you away, and Vash will be forced to acknowledge her.”

“That will absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent end in me becoming Swiss cheese at the end of one of Vash’s guns,” Arthur said. “I decline wholeheartedly.”

Kiku’s face was impassive. “I fail to see how you expect to earn your wings without taking risks.”

“You just want to see Vash use me for target practice,” Arthur shot back. “No thank you!”

“What a rude thing to say,” Kiku said disapprovingly. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Why don’t you dress as the burglar, then? Show me how it’s done?”

“Out of the question. This is your project, not mine.”

So Kiku had a stubborn side, also. Arthur bit back another saucy reply and drank some tea instead. He looked out the window into the street. More and more people were spending time outside in the fine weather, playing leisure games or listening to music through headphones. A shape suddenly blocked Arthur’s view and he looked up to see Romano walking past with an armful of papers. The Italian didn’t notice him and kept walking until Arthur rapped on the glass and waved. He expected a rude gesture and a slew of colorful curses, but when Romano turned, he looked more serious than angry. He entered the café and made his way over to the table where his neighbors sat. Without a word, he thrust a piece of paper in Arthur’s face. “What’s this?” Arthur said, taking it gingerly.

“Read it, assho—er,” Romano cut himself off with a scowl. “Just read it.” He handed one to Kiku as well. “I’ve been trying to hang these all over town. Make sure Matt and that football idiot see it and come, too.”

“Who are you calling ‘football idiot’?” Arthur snipped. Kiku kicked him under the table.

Romano’s nostrils flared and Arthur regretted his words immediately, but instead of either physically or verbally assaulting him, Romano spoke. “I’m asking this as a…favor,” he spat as if the word was bitter.

Glad that his face was still intact but caught off guard by Romano’s behavior, Arthur nodded quickly and looked down at the paper. It was a flyer, emblazoned with words and pictures in rich reds, greens, and yellows. “Summer Kickoff in the Park?” He said aloud, bemused. “I read about that in the papers this morning. Is the council paying you to hand out flyers? Did you get fired?”

A vein popped out on Romano’s forehead and he glowered fiercely. “No, I didn’t get fired, you…ugh. I’m the opener for the live music bit and I need as many people there as I can get.”

“I thought you hated playing for an audience.”

Romano’s face indicated that he was one question away from snapping. “You better be there. Please.” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t tell Antonio I’m playing. Just make sure he’s there, too.” With that, he turned away and approached the woman at the café counter, smiling brightly. “Ciao, bella! Want to hear some music? It’s free to come!”

Kiku and Arthur looked at each other, unsure if they were more unsettled by the Italian’s sudden change in demeanor with women or by the fact that he’d just said the word _please_. “I can’t tell if that was a threat or not,” Arthur whispered. “I think we ought to go, though. For our own sakes.”

Kiku nodded, still watching Romano out of the corners of his eyes.

oOoOo

“What, you two actually want me to come along with you?” Alfred asked in a wounded, incredulous tone. “I thought you two would want to go alone now that you’re suddenly super butt buddies.”

Arthur glared at his boyfriend. “We told you that was strictly business. No one is super…whatever tosh you just said.”

Alfred stuck out his lower lip and raised his Gameboy to his face again. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Festivals are an excellent time for building community and enjoying the turn of the seasons,” Kiku said solemnly. “In my hometown, we had fireworks and traditional dancing in the summer. You must go if for no other reason than to make the most of your youth!” He clenched his fist, oddly passionate.

The Gameboy lowered and revealed Alfred struggling not to laugh. “Geez. Alright, alright. If it means that much to you, Keeks, I’ll guess I’ll go. You sure get fired up about the weirdest things.”

Arthur checked his watch while Kiku huffed. “Let’s grab Matt, also. Is he free tomorrow?”

Alfred eyed Arthur curiously. “What d’you keep checking your watch for, dude? You got somewhere to be?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Arthur replied. “It’s the idiot trio’s last evening in town and I told them I’d meet them for a bite and a cuppa before the Starrise portals close.”

“Those were words, I guess,” Alfred said sarcastically, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth from a bag on the floor beside the couch on which he was laying.

Irritated, Arthur snatched the bag away. “Don’t eat while reclining! You’ll choke!  
            “Aw, chill out, Artie. I’m a pro,” Alfred replied through a mouthful of potato.

After placing the bag out of Alfred’s reach, Arthur checked his watch again. He needed to leave soon, but he ought to take some acetaminophen before left. He felt a bit feverish. “The three demons from before are leaving for Hell later tonight and I promised to say goodbye. Do you want to come with?”

“No way!” Alfred said strongly. “I’ve had enough of demons for a lifetime! Are you going to eat with them, or do you want me to pick you up something? I know you like the curry from that Indian place on Third Street.”

The thought of curry made Arthur’s mouth water, but a rolling wave of nausea tumbled through his abdomen and he shook his head. “I’ll eat something small myself.” He wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold down as rich a dish as curry. It seemed all the Earth food was disagreeing with him now, no matter how sparingly he ate.

“Fine, fine,” Alfred said. “At least give me a kiss goodbye before you leave.” He grinned devilishly.

An aura of irritation emanated from Kiku, who wordlessly left the living room and went into his bedroom, closing the door. “Perhaps we ought to be more discreet, Alfred,” Arthur said quietly. “Some people may not find open displays of affection to be palatable.”

Alfred shook his head. “No can do, dude. When you’ve got a boyfriend as cute as you, you’ve gotta go with the flow.” He reached a hand out, grabbed Arthur’s wrist, and pulled him down. Arthur tried to protest, but his blood had relocated from his brain to his face and he gave Alfred the asked-for kiss without another word. “Don’t stay out too late, ‘kay? You look kinda pale.”

Arthur nodded and stood, still trying to recover from his boyfriend’s words.

oOoOo

Feliks burst into tears as soon as he saw Arthur enter the diner. Toris and Francis immediately turned to him, trying to shield him from view of the other diners. The reason for their actions became apparent as Arthur approached the table at which the trio was seated; the serviette Feliks was swabbing his face with was rapidly becoming soaked with red. “Stop crying, Feliks!” Francis hissed urgently. “You’re going to cause a scene! Zink of happy zings!”

“I-I can’t!” Feliks hiccupped. “I’m gonna, like, miss Earth, you know? And I wanted to wear my hot new skirt to the festival tomorrow!”

Toris patted him, trying to appease. “There, there…you can wear it to River Blooms in Hell next week!”

“I was gonna wear my higanbana-print muumuu then, though,” Feliks said miserably.

Francis swapped Feliks’ red-stained serviette for a clean one as Arthur took a seat at the table. “You look like you’re bleeding from ze eyes, for ‘ades’ sake. Ze ‘umans are going to call ze emergency services!”

“Sorry…” Feliks said, snuffling. He swabbed his face once more. When he lowered the tissue, his friends cringed. “How do I look?”

“Like your face is afflicted with stigmata,” Arthur replied, disturbed. “Is this normal for you? Are you going to become anaemic?”

Toris shook his head as he dipped a handkerchief in water and tried to scrub the stains off of Feliks’ cheeks. “It’s not actually blood. It’s just the natural color of our tears. We can’t Skinwalk it away so we _try_ not to cry on holiday.”

_Demons_ , Arthur thought, picking up his menu. Nothing looked appealing. He turned the page and sighed. Francis was watching him and spoke up. “You look positively dreadful.”

“That’s rich, coming from the demon who has Skinwalked what looks like a dead stoat onto his chin,” Arthur replied, not bothering to pause in his perusal of the menu.

Francis made a face. “I’m being serious. You don’t look well at all, and I don’t just mean your absurd ‘aystack of an ‘airstyle. I ‘ope you’ve made progress with your Program.”

“I’m rolling along quite splendidly, thanks,” Arthur said, choosing to ignore the haystack comment. “I’ve recently acquired some help as well. No worries here. Any recommendations on the menu?”

His smooth lie pacified Francis, who turned his attention to his own menu. “Zey make a very good quiche Florentine ‘ere,” he commented in reply.

“I like the sautéed kohlrabi,” Feliks said, pointing to it on Arthur’s menu. “The sauerkraut here is, like, way too salty, though. So lame.”

Even the thought of sauerkraut made Arthur’s inside roil. The three demons looked at him, worried, and he tried to grin. “Really can’t stand sauerkraut,” he explained. “Fellow down the hall makes it often. Sorry.” He looked back at the menu, even less hungry than before. “I think I’ll just have some soup.”

oOoOo

Feliks cried again when they said their farewells after the meal, and then cried more when he realized he’d tear-stained his turtle-print tank top. Toris and Francis tried to minimize the damage as much as possible, but in the end their goodbyes were more rushed than they’d intended. Arthur didn’t mind—he really just wanted to get back home and in bed as soon as possible.

Once the demons were gone, Arthur began the trudge home. The soup wasn't sitting well in his stomach and his chest ached. The Earth air that once felt so fresh was like poison fog now and he dreaded breathing it in. He sighed and kept walking, one foot in front of the other. Why had he agreed to come so far out to this café? Surely there was a place closer to his apartment at which they could have met. When did he start letting demons talk him into their devilish dumpery?

He’d only made it a little over halfway home when his stomach finally rebelled and he had no choice but to forcefully empty it into a bush alongside the sidewalk. When he’d finished retching, he mopped his forehead with his sleeve. _You can do this, Arthur_ , he told himself, slapping his cheeks lightly. _Just a bit further. Buck up, old chap._ He meandered a few more feet and then stopped again. _Bloody hell_.

Alfred was washing dishes when his cell phone rang from the counter. He dried his hands, picked it up, and was nonplussed to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. He let it go to voicemail, but whoever it was did not leave a message. After a moment, the phone rang again and the same number popped up on the screen. The third time the number called, he finally answered. “Hello?” Alfred said, sliding the screen to take the phone off of speaker.

“Alfred,” a voice said on the other end. “Answer your bloody phone faster next time, you lump.”

“Artie?” Alfred said, surprised. “What number are you calling from, dude?”

“I asked to use the phone at the chemist’s. Listen, can you…come pick me up? I’m not feeling my best. I think I ate something funny at supper.”

“Of course.” Alfred eyed the dishes for a moment and then ignored them in favor of putting on his shoes. “You want me to borrow Matt’s scooter?”

Arthur’s voice sounded pleased. “That would be great. Thanks. I’m at the chemist at the intersection of Cromwell and fifteenth.”

“Alright. One quick question, though. What the hell is a chemist?”

A sigh came from the other side of the phone. “I don’t know what you call them. Sundry shop? Drugstore?”

“Oh, gotcha. Be there in a jiff,” Alfred said before hanging up. He looked at his phone and frowned. Arthur had been sick often as of late. Was he…? He pocketed his phone and called for his twin. “MATT, DUDE, I’M TAKIN’ YOUR SCOOTER. ‘KAY? THANKS.” Before Matt could protest, he grabbed the keys off the hook and was out the door.

oOoOo

Arthur looked worse than Alfred had expected when he found him waiting on the street corner. His face was damp as if he’d recently splashed water on it. Alfred stopped in front of the curb and Arthur tried to smile as he shuffled forward. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Of course,” Alfred replied, saluting him with a wink. The angel settled behind him on the scooter and he felt his arms wrap around his waist. When he looked down, Arthur’s hands were shaking. “Did you pick up any medicine? You look like you need it.”

Arthur rested his head against Alfred’s strong back. “No, no need. ‘M just a bit knackered is all.”

“I thought you said you ate something weird.”

“…Yes, that too. Maybe it was the salad,” Arthur suggested. “Dunno.”

Alfred frowned as he guided the scooter around a corner. “Whatever it was, let’s get you back to bed.”

“Yes, please.”

oOoOo

Arthur slept from the time he got home until late the next morning. When he awoke, he felt marginally better, but the relief was fleeting. He dressed himself and tried to tighten his belt, but realized with annoyance that his belt was already at the tightest notch. He looked about the room, trying to find something sharp, but failing. Belt in hand, he made his way to the kitchen and searched the drawers for a blade.

Kiku entered the kitchen on Arthur’s heels and stood watching him for a moment. “While you slept, I took it upon myself to go to Antonio’s apartment and invite him to come with us to the festival.”

Arthur turned, scissors in hand. “Did you now? Excellent idea! Thank you, though I don’t know if it will truly change anything.”

“It can’t hurt anything, either, and I think the time for being picky has passed,” Kiku said, noting the shadows under Arthur’s eyes. “I was thinking about Vash, also,” he continued. “And I was wondering if we know anyone older who has children. In a way, he probably feels like a parent to his sister and is going through the same feelings parents go through when their children leave the house.”

_Aha_ , Arthur thought, finally forcing the scissors through the leather belt and making a new hole. He put the tool away and pulled the belt through his belt loops before answering. “Sadly, I know no one here aside from those with whom you are already acquainted. Lili and Vash have no living parents—that much we know—but surely someone else does. Perhaps we can borrow someone’s parents.”

“I’ll make tea,” Kiku said. “You find paper and let’s work together to make a list.”

“Who do we know that is well-adjusted and has at least one parent we can talk to?” Arthur began as soon as he was seated with his mug of steaming tea. “Do you not take milk in your tea?”

Kiku shook his head. “I prefer not to in hot tea. I find that milk dilutes the delicate aromas and cripples the sweetness of the drink.”

“I think it’s rather a crime not to add milk and sugar, myself,” Arthur said, eyeing Kiku’s light green beverage. “But I drink black tea for the most part. I don’t suppose I’ve ever tried green tea in earnest. Sort of smells like grass, dunnit?”

“I agree the flavor can be described as earthy,” Kiku said thoughtfully, raising his cup and wafting the steam toward his face. “The sweetness is subtle and perhaps too muted for the standard Western taste.”

“May I?” Arthur asked, gesturing to Kiku’s cup. Kiku obliged, sliding the dish across the table. Arthur sipped at it before sliding it back. “Yes, I can see what you mean. That must be why Alfred doesn’t care for tea unless it’s black with lots of sugar. Can you believe he drinks it cold?”

Kiku shook his head. “I can understand the need for cool drinks in the summer, but the sugar makes no sense. The leaf itself is sweet enough as is unless it is over steeped.”

Fighting the desire to lay his head on the cool table, Arthur compromised by resting his head on his fist. “Alfred’s eating habits are disastrous, anyhow.” He frowned, closing his eyes and seeing images in his mind of his boyfriend laughing while shoveling hamburgers into his face.

“Truly regrettable,” Kiku agreed. His eyes took a faraway expression. “Once he brought me a birthday cake at work.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Arthur asked, cracking open an eye to look at his companion.

Kiku gripped his cup more tightly. “It was blue. Why was it blue? And the taste…it was like a thousand Awa odori performers made of sugar were waving sugar fans on a street made of sugar…it was a true nightmare.”

_Kiku really feels strongly about this_ , Arthur thought, looking at the man’s pale face. “I see,” he said. “Matt isn’t much better.”

“At what?” Matt asked, entering the kitchen.

“Eh,” Arthur sat up. “We were talking about you North Americans’ strange diets.”

Matt made a face. “If you’re going to sit out here and badmouth Tim Horton’s, I don’t want to hear it.” He wove around the table to get himself another cup of coffee.

Suddenly aware of how far the conversation had strayed, Arthur picked up the pencil he’d brought when he was fetching paper earlier. “Anyway, back to what we were working on,” he directed.

Kiku also looked surprised to have forgotten their original mission. He’d nearly forgotten how angry he was at the angel. “Ah, yes.”

“What mission?” Matt interjected, happy now that there was no talk of his favorite donut shop.

“We’ve been discussing Vash and Lili and how to get Vash to accept Lili’s decision to move out,” Arthur explained. “I hear they aren’t on speaking terms right now and I need more changes for my Program. We thought we might have Vash talk to a parent who has had children grow up and leave the house as they could understand his angst.”

Kiku nodded. “Would your mother be willing to talk with him? I know your father is…unavailable.”

Matt laughed nervously. “I don’t think my mom is the best person for this. She’s…er…a lot like my sister Emily. You've never met Em, Arthur, but believe me, she might make it worse.”

Kiku’s eyes widened and he made an X with his arms. “Yes. Next suggestion.”

“Antonio has parents and he’s a reasonable fellow. How about him?” Arthur suggested.

Matt shook his head. “Both of Antonio’s parents speak only Spanish. They visited once.”

Arthur snapped his fingers. “Drat. Do Elizabeta or Emma’s parents speak Common?”

“I’m not sure,” Matt replied, thinking hard. “I’ve never asked about their parents before.”

“We can ask them later today at the festival,” Kiku suggested.

“What about Yao? He has his three younger siblings,” Matt pointed out.

Kiku _hmmm_ ’d in his throat and shook his head. “No, his Snack Shack is about to open. I doubt he has time to work with us.”

Still flipping through his mental catalogue of friends, Arthur spoke again. “Feliciano said he and Romano’s parents reportedly have bad blood between them, so that wouldn’t work. Ludwig is a very well adjusted adult. We could ask his parents how they dealt with him leaving the house.”

“Ludwig’s parents are Gilbert’s parents also,” Kiku reminded him. “From what I gather, Ludwig and Gilbert were raised more or less by their grandfathers, both of whom are deceased now.”

Matt tilted his head a bit. “I think Gilbert actually did much of the raising of Ludwig himself.”

Taken aback, Arthur frowned. “Say what now? How did that happen? Gilbert’s life is a dumpster fire on a good day.”

“He’s gotten much better since he’s stopped hiding his career,” Matt said, wanting to defend the man. “He had to stop drinking during the day to protect his image as an author of teens books.”

“That just means he’s gotten worse at night,” Arthur rebutted. “He also has a sizeable adult fan base now that he’s released the murder mystery that he’d been sitting on for years. The other night I saw him standing on a bar, singing, with a pint of beer in both hands.”

Kiku bobbled his head, considering both sides. “Even so, he raised Ludwig well. Perhaps he could be a resource for us if Elizabeta or Emma’s parents are not suitable.”

“If we must,” Arthur agreed, unconvinced. “Speaking of the festival, what time are we going?”

“Antonio is meeting us there at five-thirty.” Kiku glanced at the clock as he spoke and jumped out of his chair. “I must drop by my office before we go. Please pardon me.” He put his cup in the sink and returned to his room.

Matt looked at Arthur, one eyebrow raised. “Antonio?”

“It’s all part of our plans,” Arthur explained, draining his cup. “I’ll go see if Gilbert is home in the meantime.”

“I’ll wait for Alfred to get back from practice and tell him our plans,” Matt offered. “Let’s leave the house by no later than a quarter to five. Alfred will probably demand to stop for food.”

“There’ll be food at the festival,” Arthur said, exasperated.

Matt shrugged. “You know how he is. You’re dating him.”

oOoOo

“You want him to do what?” Ludwig asked, disturbed. He’d answered the door when Arthur knocked and happily invited him inside.

“We just think he could understand how Vash feels, since he raised a little sibling as well,” Arthur explained. “Was he sad when you left the house?”

Ludwig’s face was impassive. “I never truly left. As you may have noticed, he still lives with me. I’ve been trying to kick him out ever since Feliciano and I got engaged.”

“Ah, right,” Arthur said. “Er…he must have been a good big brother to you, though. You turned out well.”

As if the subject pained him, Ludwig sighed. “He…sometimes I wonder who raised who. Anyway, what makes you think you have a right to interfere in Vash and Lili’s relationship?”

The bluntness of the German’s question stabbed Arthur and he deflated a bit as he thought about it. What right _did_ he have? It wasn’t really a right at all…he _had_ to interfere. How else could he make changes? “Er…” he stalled for time to think. “I…well…I sort of nudged Lili into starting the martial arts classes with Kaoru. I suppose I feel a bit responsible for it all.”

Ludwig’s face did not change. “Lili made her own decisions. You merely introduced options she hadn’t considered before. If you see yourself as responsible, you’re taking away her agency as an adult and treating her like a child in the same way Vash does.”

Another stab. Arthur shrank into his seat, unable to think of a counter argument. “I just…they were so close…”

“They still love each other just as much as they ever did,” Ludwig said. “These things take time. Take it from someone with a ridiculous sibling—you may not always like them, but you always love them.”

“Er. I see.” Arthur shuffled his feet. “How’s the wedding planning going?”

“Well, though I have little to do with it,” Ludwig replied. “Feli doesn’t like any of my suggestions.”

“You wanted a wedding cake made entirely out of sausage and frosted with mashed potatoes,” Feliciano yelled from a back room.

“That would be delicious!” Ludwig yelled back.

“Not at my wedding it wouldn’t! Come back when you have a _good_ idea!”

Ludwig sighed again and Arthur couldn’t help but smile. “You two always get along so well. Tell Gilbert I was here when he returns, would you?”

“Understood,” Ludwig agreed. “Will you be at the festival tonight? Romano talked Feli and I into going. He’s been acting very strangely lately…”

“How so?” Arthur asked, curious.

“He’s been…tolerable.” The burly man squinted his eyes, suspicious. “He hasn’t called me a ‘potato-sucking bastard’ in two days. That’s a record for him.”

Arthur smiled again. “Well, how about that. Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“At any rate, it has to be more peaceful around here now, what with Gilbert not drinking in the day and Romano acting like a human being,” Arthur pointed out.

“You’re not wrong. It’s just suspicious.” Ludwig walked his guest to the door. “Until tonight, then.”

“Goodbye.”

“CIAO!” Feli called from the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF is Romano planning? Is he going to make an enormous ass out of himself in front of all of Britannia? Who knows?
> 
> @Levy Kleith: Don't cry too hard for Kiku ;)
> 
> @FuckLife: *blows smoke off gun tip* I think Kiku and Arthur really could have been best friends in a different life. Love to you, S. America bro/sis!


	18. Festival

Antonio was waiting for them at the park gate, dressed as if he’d just come from work. Now that Arthur thought about it, the Spaniard dressed casually no matter where he was—he went to parties, work, and everything else in the same khaki slacks with different shirts. Emma was waiting beside him and waved cheerfully when she caught sight of Arthur and his friends approaching. “Yoohoo!” She called, grinning. “Look who I found!”

Antonio grinned just as widely as his cousin, but there was a shade of discomfort behind his eyes. Arthur wondered if Emma made a habit of sticking to Antonio’s side during festivals like this. Perhaps that had fueled Romano’s misconceptions. “Welcome, amigos! What great weather for a festival, am I right? Just look at this sky!”

Arthur tipped his head up and admired the cerulean overhead. Truly, it was a lovely day. At his side, Alfred watched him closely as if he expected him to fall over again. When he didn’t, the American turned to Emma. “What, you aren’t selling any baked goods today? I was hoping to get some strawberry cake. Keeks said he wanted a fruit tart, too.”

“I was too late to register this year! We only have so many spots and we have a few new vendors, apparently.” Emma shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just happy to be able to enjoy the festival like a normal person.”

“But…” Alfred pouted. “Cake…”

Kiku frowned at Alfred’s disappointment. “There are many other stalls set up. I’m sure we can find something you like.”

“Won’t be hard,” Arthur groused. “Alfred hasn’t met a food he didn’t like.”

“Except vegemite,” Alfred corrected him. “Matt and I’s cousin Jett brought us some from Australia once. I thought I’d never eat again.”

_Vegemite_? Arthur had never heard of such a food before. “Well that didn’t last long, did it?” He teased.

Alfred shrugged good-naturedly. “A hamburger fixes anything, dude.”

The group walked into the festival area together, looking around at all the colors and stalls. Antonio whistled low. “The city council has been working hard this year. Look, there’s a stage set up over there. I hope there will be live music.” Emma looked sideways at him, but a glance from Arthur stopped her from speaking.

A soft touch from the side caught Arthur’s attention and he looked down to see Alfred’s hand nudging his gently. The American was looking away, but his cheeks were pink. Arthur took his hand and also looked away, hiding his own face. Was he more happy or ashamed of himself? He couldn’t tell. Holding Alfred’s hand felt like the natural, right thing to do, but a glimpse of the back of Kiku’s head sent shame through his veins.

Kiku turned to the two and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to scold them, but he merely pointed to a stall and said, “Oh, look.”

Alfred pulled him closer as he leaned over to look. “Hey!” He said suddenly. “It’s Yao!”

“Yao?” Arthur said, remembering the passionate man from what felt like a lifetime ago. “Where?”

“Right there. He’s got his own stall!” Alfred strode up to the counter, pulling Arthur with him as he walked. “What’s up, dude? Look at you!”

Yao brightened at the sight of his friends. “Ah! Welcome to Yao’s portable Snack Shack!”

Kiku smiled at him, happy to see his face. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ever since I cut down my hours, I haven’t seen you much,” Yao agreed. “But you can’t hide from me forever! Buy some snacks!”

Matt poked his head around the window and greeted Yao. “How’s the brick and mortar coming along? I heard you were opening soon.”

“Yes! Soon! Two months! All thanks to Arthur’s slippery fingers here, yes?” He winked at Arthur. “No one can beat Yao at cards, my friend! You were doomed from the start! No hard feelings, right? You can have discounted dumplings.”

“What?” Alfred gasped, turning to shake his boyfriend. “Buy me some, dude!”

Yao grinned widely, showing all his teeth. “Yes! Buy lots! Make Yao rich!”

A line had started to form behind the group, so Arthur took a menu from the holder next to the window and perused the options. “What doesn’t have meat?” He asked.

“Try the mushroom cha siu bao,” Yao suggested, leaning out to point at a bullet point. “You’ll like them. Cheap, too. Better buy multiple.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed, though he wasn’t hungry in truth. Despite the discomfort in his stomach, seeing Yao’s happiness had spread warmth under his skin that chased away his earlier guilt. “I’ll take two.”

oOoOo

“Dude, I think he’s gotten even better at cooking,” Alfred said, slurping noodles without shame as he walked.

Kiku nodded, looking hungrily at his own dish of shrimp shumai. He disliked eating and walking, however, and was waiting until they found a seat to try what he’d ordered. “He looks well,” he commented, smiling a little. “I’m glad.”

A passing couple caught Alfred’s attention, and he lowered his noodles to stare at them suspiciously. “Isn’t that…hey, it’s Gilbert! Yo, Gilbert!”

It was indeed Gilbert, though his face was obstructed behind sunglasses and a paper mask like the ones used for catching germs. His pale skin and white hair gave him away, however, and he jolted when his name was called. Pushing up his sunglasses, he turned and pressed a finger to his lips hurriedly. “Shut up,” he hissed, his voice muffled behind the mask. “I’m trying to go undercover.”

“Oh, Lizzie!” Emma said, coming to stand on the other side of Antonio. “I was wondering when you’d get here. Ditch that loser and come hang out with me!”

Elizabeta, who had been blocked from Arthur’s view by Gilbert, waved at her friend. “Hello, Emma. Did you pass any beer stalls at which I can drop the loser off?”

Gilbert pulled down his mask and frowned. “Hey,” he whined. “Hanging out with me is awesome! Don’t you even think about ditching me!”

Antonio pulled Emma back by the arm. “I think you’re ruining their date,” he whispered loudly.

Both Gilbert and Elizabeta immediately went red and stepped a few feet away from each other, glaring at each other as they did so. “Date?” Gilbert squawked, trying to play off his embarrassment. “You’ve got it all wrong. Lizzie showed up at my awesome door and said she wanted to go to this snooze fest of a festival! As a loyal and devoted friend, I agreed.”

“What?” Elizabeta demanded. “You showed up at _my_ door and begged me not to make you go to the festival alone because the paparazzi scares you!”

Gilbert spluttered. “Well! You accepted, didn’t you? And I am not scared of the media! Sometimes they startle me, that’s all!”

“You hid in my apartment for three days straight after the release of your new book because you were afraid they’d take a picture of you with a pimple on your face!”

“I do _not_ get pimples! My face is too awesome for acne!”

“You have one on your chin right now! I’m looking at it!”

“Stop looking at it!”

Emma watched the two bicker and looked at Antonio with a smile and a sigh. “I think you’re right,” she said sadly, feeling abandoned by her flat mate. “You two have fun tonight!”

Gilbert stopped arguing and thumped his chest proudly. “Of course she’ll have fun. She’s with me.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Elizabeta scolded, going red again. “I’m not _with you_ with you, Acne Lord.”

“THAT’S AWESOME ACNE LORD TO--”

The group sidled away from the couple, who continued to argue heartily in their absence. Antonio looked over his shoulder and smiled at them. “They look like they’re enjoying themselves.” He swept his gaze over the rest of the crowd, as if looking for other faces he knew. “I wonder if Feli and Roma are here, too.”

Arthur dropped back from Alfred to walk next to Antonio, trying to ignore the way his muscles ached. “How’s it been at the shop with Romano?”

Antonio lowered his voice. “It’s been…quiet. He’s done his work without complaining and hasn’t said more than a few sentences to me in the past week. I can’t tell if he’s improved or fallen even further into his own shadow.”

“Fallen into his own shadow?”

“Well, that’s kind of how I see it. He wants to make friends and be accepted, but he’s always sabotaging himself. After his big break last week, I’ve been worrying that he’s regressed and become even more closed off.”

Arthur thought about his encounter with the Italian and lifted the corners of his mouth slightly. No, he didn’t think Romano had closed himself off. “He said ‘please’ to Kiku and me the other day.”

Antonio’s eyes opened wide. “What? Now that’s a word I’ve never heard from his sour little tomato mouth. Along with ‘thank you’ and any sort of compliment. I don’t know what I’d do if I _did_ hear it.”

“Hear what?” Emma asked, trying to listen in on the conversation.

Antonio laughed and shrugged. “Oh, just talking with Arthur about Romano being polite.”

“Polite? Romano?” Emma joined in on the laughter. “Good one! That’d be the day!”

“Yeah…” Antonio’s smile fell and he went back to looking around the crowd.

After dropping his empty dish off at a recycling bin, Alfred rejoined the group. “I heard someone say the music will be starting in about half an hour. Anyone wanna play some games in the meantime?”

“Sure,” Matt agreed. “What do they have?”

“The usual--target toss, water gun races, basketball hoops. Want me to win you something, Artie?”

“Eh?” Arthur replied, embarrassed by how much he wanted to answer yes. His head was hurting and he couldn’t think of a graceful way to express himself. “I don’t…that’s…what would I want with any of this rubbish?”

Alfred shrugged. “I dunno. Your side of the room is kind of bare, so it’s not like you have too much stuff. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“If…if you really want to that badly, then fine!” Arthur said, crossing his arms and trying not to smile. He stumbled over a tuft of grass, but Alfred caught him before he tumbled to the ground.

“I’m going to spread out the blanket and eat my shumai,” Kiku said, interrupting. “Please excuse me.”

“Aw,” Alfred said, disappointed, but his friend had already walked away. “Geez. I thought he loved stuff like this.”

Emma grabbed Antonio’s wrist and pointed toward a stall. “Look! They have churros! Let’s go get some and eat them when the music starts!” Antonio, whose mouth had already started watering at the word ‘churro’, followed happily, leaving Matt, Alfred, and Arthur.

“Where shall we start?” Matt asked, pulling coins out of his pocket. “Do we have to buy tickets first?”

“I see a ticket booth!” Alfred called, shielding his eyes against the sun. “Give me your money and I’ll go get us all some tickets. How many should we get?”

Arthur craned his neck to see a sign on the side of ladder-climbing contest. “It looks like most games are five tickets, give or take a few.” Matt, who was looking at the games in the opposite direction, nodded his agreement.

Dropping a wink and a salute, Alfred pulled the coins from his twin’s hand and hurried away, throwing a “Be right back!” over his shoulder.

As he disappeared into the crowd, the sun caught his hair and reflected the gold like fire into Arthur’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. When he regained his vision, Matt was watching him with a wistful, happy expression. “Eh, sorry,” he apologized when he realized the angel had caught him. “It’s just…Al’s happy. I’m grateful to you.”

“I’m happy, too,” Arthur replied honestly. He was. Despite everything, he really was. He was also, however, tired to his bones. Yao’s cha siu bao sat better on his stomach than most Earth food did lately, but he could still feel his guts rolling lightly in irritation. As much as he wanted to play with Alfred at the brightly colored booths, he wanted just as badly to go back home to bed.

But Matt had said that Alfred was happy and Arthur wouldn’t spoil that. He pulled himself together; he could rest when the music started.

oOoOo

The three boys barely made it back to the leaf-patterned blanket on which Kiku sat before an emcee walked out on the festival stage and greeted them all. Looking around, Arthur could see that there were more than three hundred people gathered. Some were on blankets, some brought chairs, and some were standing, holding cups of various drinks. Antonio and Emma had found Kiku earlier and planted themselves to his right, a small empty carton in front of them that had doubtlessly been filled earlier with churros.

“Keeks! Arthur’s so bad at throwing darts it should really be illegal,” Alfred snickered, plopping himself on the blanket. “ _So_ bad.”

Arthur scowled, irritation on his face. His limbs hadn’t been working the way he’d wanted them to. The strength and the coordination just weren’t there. “You shut your sodding face,” he snipped.

Alfred continued laughing and pulled out a keychain he’d won at a hoop-shooting booth. “I got this for you, Keeks. I thought you’d like it.” He handed over the thing, a little plastic white blob with a face on the end of a chain.

Kiku took it, a smile blooming on his face. “It’s a mochi. We eat them at New Year’s. Thank you.” He drew it close to his chest, fastening it to a buttonhole on his jacket. Alfred, pleased that Kiku liked his gift, turned back to Arthur and threw an arm around him.

The sun was starting to set and, as the emcee chattered about the city’s plans for the summer, Arthur noticed tiny flashes of lights start appearing among the festivalgoers. Still holding the stuffed unicorn Alfred had won for him at a target shooting range, the angel poked Alfred in the side. “Hey, cut it out—that tickles!” Alfred laughed.

“What’re those?”

“What? Oh. Those are hipsters, Artie. You can tell by the way that guy has tortoiseshell glasses without lenses and how they’re wearing so much plaid they look like they’re going to a Scottish--”

Arthur scowled. “Not the people, you twat. The little shiny things.”

Alfred squinted. “That’s glitter. Sometimes hipsters put it in their beards or eyebrows.”

“THE FLOATY FLYING LIGHTS, YOU DIMWITTED--”

A chorus of _shhh_ echoed from around them and Arthur saw the stage had dimmed in preparation for the first performer. He shut his mouth, embarrassed, then opened it again when the lights came back and Romano walked out, hands in his pockets and a sour expression on his face. Alfred clapped with the rest of the audience, then leaned in close to his boyfriend’s ear. “They’re fireflies. I’ll show ‘em to you later, ‘kay?”

Arthur nodded, shivering as Alfred’s breath touched his ear, and turned his attention to the stage. Romano sat down on a stool in center stage, still frowning, and plucked a mandolin from a case in a pile that was waiting on the stage. Arthur’s eyes slid over to look at Antonio, who sat frozen in shock. Beside him, Emma was the same, her head tilted in confusion.

Without a word, Romano began to play, his fingers skimming and plucking the strings deftly. The song he produced was bouncy and cheerful—a contrast to the artist’s stormy demeanor. The melody caught the audience’s ears immediately; it was like Romano managed to manifest a band on the stage by himself. The little ditties he’d shown Arthur during lessons were a baby’s effort compared to the skill he displayed now.

As the music progressed, Romano’s face melted from angry to peaceful. The music improved even further, if possible, and it was as if the man was becoming one with his instrument and channeling his own spirit into each note. At the end of the first song, the festivalgoers clapped uproariously. Antonio looked as if someone had just informed him that all the churros in the world had become sentient and were planning a delicious revolt against their human overlords. Emma’s face showed equal shock and suspicion.

A blanket flapped out to the left and Arthur turned to see Feliciano and Ludwig settling in to watch the show. Feliciano put a finger to his lips and winked at the group on the leaf blanket. He offered Arthur some pasta out of a container he’d brought, but the smell made Arthur intensely nauseated and he shook his head.

On stage, Romano had pulled the microphone out of the stand and was glaring fiercely at the upturned faces in front of the stage. “I’m Romano Vargas. Some of you might know me as the main instrument instructor at Antonio’s Musical Surplus. Those who know me also know that I hate playing music in front of strangers and especially hate playing on a stage.”

The faces of most in the audience were taken aback; the contrast between Romano’s glorious music and rotten attitude was staggering. Feliciano, however, was giggling, and both Ludwig and Antonio had their heads in their hands. From what he could hear, Antonio seemed to be praying in Spanish, possibly for his employee to shut up before he ruined the little music store’s business even further.

“I hate that song that I just played, too,” Romano continued. “It’s a stupid, overly-complicated song and if any of you liked it, you have shi—terrible taste.”

Antonio moaned softly into his hands “Oh, Dios mío…”

“I’ve been doing a lot of things I hate lately.” Romano plowed on with his speech despite the shock in his audience’s faces. “I’ve been doing them because there’s someone I love. Everything I do is cursed, it seems, because my personality sucks. Everything I touch turns to crap. So I thought if I did the opposite of what I usually do, maybe for once in my life I’d do something right and prove that I’m not…I dunno…beyond hope or whatever. Through I probably am,” he added.

Antonio had lifted his face from his hands now and was gaping at the stage. Goosebumps were raised all along his arms as he tried to take in what he was hearing. Romano’s words continued from the stage. “I’m not good at speaking, as you can tell. I’ve always found music communicates better, which is probably why I don’t like to play for anyone. Anyway, this is a song of apology for being a fuck—uh, an ass— _shit_ —a giant jerkoff to pretty much all of you. Especially my little brother, his idiot fiancé, and my overflowing trashcan of a boss.”

He replaced the microphone and took up an instrument again, a viola this time, beginning a slow, sorrowful song. His face contorted as he played and the viola’s sound metamorphosed into something Arthur could almost call crying, if an instrument could cry. The notes flowed from the stage, soothing the outrage from the faces of some of the people in the audience who had taken umbrage at his coarse language. For the first time, Arthur saw Romano as something akin to attractive, his slender fingers caressing and working the strings of the instrument like a lover.

When the song was over, Romano packed up the viola and took out a ukulele. “This is a song of thanks to all the people who’ve dealt with me and still stuck by me, whether they had a choice or not.”

Antonio had long since abandoned any attempt to keep a straight face and was openly transfixed. Emma leaned on her arms beside him, a wry, triumphant smile on her face. As new music struck up from Romano’s ukulele, Arthur heard a sigh and turned to see Feliciano grinning. “Roma’s being so honest,” he whispered to Arthur. “More than he’s been since we were kids.”

The ukulele was switched for an accordion and Romano almost ripped the microphone cord as he growled into it, “This song is for my potato-loving, no-good soon-to-be brother in law. I still don’t like you, but Feli does and I guess that’ll have to be good enough for me.” At that, he plunged into a loud, angry song that sent Feliciano into giggles again.

Ludwig sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” he muttered, looking disappointed.

The accordion was packed away at the end of the song and Romano brought out the mandolin again. “This song is for my _fratello_. You’re a pain in my arse.” He said no words of endearment, but the melody he coaxed from the stringed instrument said what he didn’t. When the beautiful, twisting tune was finished, both Feliciano and Romano sniffed and wiped their noses on their sleeves at the same time.

“This is my last song,” Romano said, taking a simple guitar out of a case. “It’s for Antonio, you churro-eating, salsa-drinking, devil-may-care pile of trash. I wrote this stupid song for you because I’m in love with you, dammit. So listen to it, whether or not you accept my feelings. I may be the last person you’d ever want at your side, but you’re the only person I want at mine. Ugh, look what you’ve made me say now,” he muttered, twiddling the tuning knobs on the guitar’s head.

The chords began, hopeful and reserved, and then a miracle happened. Romano grabbed the stand, raised it from where it was put in front of the guitar, and began to sing. He was singing in Italian, but Arthur could tell that Antonio understood every word. The Spaniard was barely blinking, so fixated was he on his employee’s every motion and word. When Arthur turned to look at Feliciano, he found that he was just as shocked as Antonio. Had Romano ever sang for him before?

Romano’s voice cracked at one point, but the words flowed from him in the same way the notes streamed from the guitar. He closed his eyes as he sang and Arthur wondered if he was embarrassed to look at the audience or just too caught up in his own emotions. The summer night pressed in on Arthur as the song whisked him away to somewhere filled with hope and longing. He wished he knew what the words meant, but at the same time he felt like they weren’t for him. He closed his own eyes and let himself go, feeling nothing but Alfred’s hand holding his and the music reverberating through his chest.

Alfred squeezed his hand and Arthur peeked an eye open to find tears in the American’s eyes. He opened his other eye and frowned. “What’s wrong?” He mouthed at him. Matt and Kiku, on Alfred’s other side, were both dry-eyed. Alfred only shook his head, smiled gently, and pulled the angel closer. Pain shot down Arthur’s legs as he shifted and he bit his lip to keep from making noise.

When the music finally stopped, Romano said no words of goodbye or thanks and simply stalked off the stage, ignoring the wild applause of the audience. Antonio watched him until he disappeared into the curtains at the side, leaving all his instruments in their cases at center stage. The emcee appeared a moment later and seemed unsure how to spin the previous performance. “Well! That was interesting! Let’s all put our hands together once again for Romano Vargas! Our next performer is a mechanic by day and a magician by night! Please welcome…”

The rest of the words became background buzzing as Antonio rose, taking the churro container with him. “I’m going to find the restroom. Anyone need anything?” He still looked shell-shocked and kept running his hands through his hair. By now he’d worked out most of the product he put in it in the mornings; soon it would puff around his face like a lion’s mane. Everyone else shook their heads and Antonio picked his way out of the crowd.

Emma looked like she wanted to follow, but stayed seated. Without a word, she turned to Arthur and the rest and made a face as if to say _well, how about that?_

_How about that, indeed_ , Arthur thought. He wondered how Antonio was feeling about it all after Romano’s uncharacteristically romantic gesture. _Is it uncharacteristic?_ Arthur wondered suddenly, realizing that he didn’t actually know Romano’s character well enough to make such a statement. He’d only interacted with him a handful of times over the past five and half months. Maybe there were many sides to his friends that he’d never seen. _How many years would it take,_ he wondered, _to see them all?_

He looked over at Alfred, who was standing and dusting grass off his blue jeans. _How many of your sides will I never see?_

Satisfied, Alfred held his hand out to help Arthur up. The angel took it gratefully, but quickly realized his legs weren’t responding like they ought to. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he struggled to pull himself up. Alfred caught onto his boyfriend’s problem immediately and dipped down to grasp Arthur’s other hand for more support.

Together, the two managed to get him standing, but as soon as he tried to take a step, his legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed back on the ground. Shocked, Arthur looked down at his legs, which looked innocent enough in their tweed slacks. He’d now attracted the attention of Matt, Kiku, Feliciano, and Ludwig, who were all eyeing him with varying levels of concern.

“You okay?” Alfred asked, alarm tingeing his usually jovial voice.

Arthur let his hands slip from Alfred’s and set to work rubbing the muscles in his legs. “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he said. “Think my legs just fell asleep. Give me a minute, would you, to wake them up?”

“Sure,” Alfred replied, squatting back down beside the angel. “You let me know when you’re ready.”

Still trying to rub the numbness away, Arthur nodded. “Soon,” he mumbled. Surely they would wake back up.

Besides, he wanted to see where Antonio had slipped off to because he somehow doubted it was the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to see some old faces come back!   
> Romano is a grade A sap, but Antonio is a grade A+ sap. 
> 
> @FuckLife: Stop predicting my story! xD hahaha I hope it met your expectations!
> 
> @Levy Klieth: Something something ninjas onions


	19. Fireflies

It took nearly half an hour for Arthur to get enough feeling back into his legs to stand and, even when he did, he felt weak and shaky like a newborn deer. Perhaps it was low blood sugar from being unable to keep much food down, or perhaps it was some sort of strange neuropathy stemming from positioning. He hoped it wasn’t the neurotoxins from Earth’s air pooling in his muscle fibers, paralyzing them. That would mean he was looking at days until…but he hadn’t done enough yet…

“See? All better,” he reassured his friends after he was able to stand and take a few steps. “I was sitting with my legs all curled up and lost feeling. For goodness’ sake, Alfred, stop clinging and let me be.”

Feliciano, Ludwig, and Matt were relieved, but Kiku just looked away as Alfred fussed over the angel. “Maybe we oughta go on back home,” he said, still knocking clover off Arthur’s back from where he’d fallen.

“I’m fine,” Arthur snapped, embarrassed that he’d caused a commotion.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him. “ _You_ may be fine, but _I’m_ pretty tired. So whaddya say? I’ll let you ride on my back.”

“I thought you were tired?”

“I am,” Alfred said, yawning and stretching to prove his point. “But you weigh less than a Christmas turkey, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Come on.”

Arthur backed away, nearly stumbling and falling again as he did so. “No, thank you. Let me check on one thing and then we can walk home together. Do you need help folding up the picnic blanket?”

“Nah. Keeks, Matt, and I can handle it. Go on and do whatever it is you need to do. We’ll meet you by the entrance.”

“Don’t you want to go look for Romano?” Ludwig asked, looking down at Feliciano.

Feliciano shook his head, his face covered in tomato sauce. “No, I want to see the rest of the stage acts. We’ll see Roma at home later.” He shot a glance at Arthur, smiling conspiratorially. “Besides, he’s probably binge-eating tiramisu somewhere near the cart from that new Sicilian restaurant. He likes sweets when he’s nervous and tomatoes when he’s in a bad mood.”

_But he’s always eating tomatoes_ , Arthur thought, shaking his head. He took the hint Feliciano was dropping, however, and tried to remember where he’d seen Mediterranean food. Was it over near the game where Alfred had won his stuffed unicorn? He’d try there first. “I’ll meet you at the park gates in a bit,” he told his flat mates. Alfred watched him go dubiously, frowning at the unsteadiness in the angel’s legs.

No Italian food was to be found near the game with the stuffed unicorns, so Arthur wandered around until he smelled pizza and fried dough. Following the smell, he found the Sicilian restaurant stand and peered around it. Romano was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the food vendor’s suspicious glares, he went behind the line of stalls and looked up and down the hedgerow. Nothing.

If Feliciano were to be believed, however, he wouldn’t be far. Arthur checked a few shady corners and then caught sight of a covered pavilion decorated with fairy lights and benches at which people were sitting as they ate and chatted. Skirting the area, he located two familiar brown heads sitting near the back. He tried to stay in the shadows as he moved closer, but resorted to hiding behind a tree nearby. He’d have been more comfortable ducking behind the bushes, but he didn’t trust his legs to pick him back up if he sat down again.

The tree was wide enough that he could lean against it and peek around the side just enough to see with one eye where Romano and Antonio were sitting. Romano was pink and scowling, but Antonio looked quite at ease. Arthur leaned closer, trying to pick out their voices from among the rest of the noisy festivalgoers.

“—need to stop throwing spaghetti against the wall to check if it’s done. My kitchen wall looks like a bag of wet flour sneezed on it. Put your tomato cores down the disposal, too.”

“Fine, fine,” Romano growled. “Any other conditions I should be aware of? Can’t swear at Emma in any language, can’t swear at all when your parents visit, can’t throw tomatoes in the trash…I’m starting to regret ever asking. Want me to smile more, while you’re at it?”

Antonio shook his head and grinned. “No, I like your grouchy tomato face the way it is.”

Romano shifted uneasily in his seat, not expecting the compliment. “That’s…ugh. So you’ll go out with me, then?”

“No, I’ll go on a _date_ with you. You have to impress me more before I’ll consider any more than that,” Antonio replied, leaning back and lacing his fingers comfortably on his stomach. “You can start the impressing any time you like, by the way.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Romano said acidly, standing up to leave. “I don’t want to date you anymore.”

Antonio’s grin only broadened further at the Italian’s words and he, too, stood. “Before you go, though, there’s the matter of your tip.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Romano asked, suspicious.

“When musicians play in public, they usually collect tips,” Antonio explained patiently. “You never play for audiences, so you didn’t have any sort of container set out that fans could put tips into. I wanted to give you one.”

Romano squinted at his boss, giving him a stiff glare. “Keep your stupid tip. I don’t need your money or anyone else’s.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to give you money,” Antonio replied, reaching out and snagging the other’s chin with his tanned hand.

“Wha—” Romano began what sounded like a spirited swearing session, but was muffled and then cut off by Antonio pulling him forward and kissing him soundly.

When Antonio stopped, Romano tried to resume the kiss, but the Spaniard put a hand out to stop him. “If you want more, you’re going to have to earn it,” he teased.

Romano’s face soured. “Like hell I’d do that,” He grumped, but the blood deepened in his cheeks.

oOoOo

Matt, Alfred, and Emma hounded Arthur for information when he met them at the park entrance, but he just shrugged. Romano and Antonio’s way was going to be hard enough without input from the 9th floor gossip mill. The lovebirds could spread their news when they felt it was right.

A little ways down the road, a voice called out to Arthur from behind. He turned to see Lili running to catch up with them, already dressed in her work uniform. “Arthur! Wait!” She called.

When she finally reached him, she doubled over, panting. “I’m so glad I saw you leaving. You haven’t been by the Grill lately! When are you going to come visit me? I have so much to tell you!”

Arthur searched her face for any signs of irritation or ill will, but her cheeks and eyes were glowing and pleased. “Sorry,” he muttered, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “I’ve been a bit slammed lately. I’ll come see you soon, alright? Is everything okay with your brother?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Big Brother will be fine. He’s always so slow to deal with change. He’s not giving you trouble, is he?”

Thinking of the ever-present threat of Vash’s guns punching holes in his flesh, Arthur hesitated. When Lili frowned, he cleared his face up and shook his head. “No, honestly he’s not. I make up my own trouble. It’s rather a hobby of mine, it seems.”

“Good.” Lili flicked her eyes to look at Alfred and then caught Arthur’s eyes again with a smile. “You look like everything is going well. Guess you don’t need your love counselor anymore, huh?” She laughed off her own joke, but softened as she said, “I’m glad. Really glad. For everything.”

“You’re happy, then?” Arthur asked.

“I am. I just wish you’d start visiting me again. Tell Alfred he can’t keep you all to himself!”

Arthur blushed and Alfred laughed behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll come see you soon,” the angel said.

“Promise?”

“I’ll come see you soon,” Arthur repeated. He hated breaking promises.

Satisfied, Lili smiled and opened her arms. Arthur accepted the hug, pulling the small woman into his arms. She’d tried to do this before, but Vash had thrown a fit. Arthur hoped he wasn’t watching from the shadows. “Wonderful,” Lili said, letting him go and stepping back. “See you soon! Tell me when you’re coming and I’ll have Kaoru stop by for lunch with us.” She waved over her shoulder as she headed for work. “Bye!”

“Goodbye,” Arthur mumbled, waving at her back. “Thanks.”

It was only when he reached the apartment that he remembered he’d forgotten to ask Emma if her parents were available to talk to Vash.

oOoOo

As he’d feared when he’d laid down to sleep, Arthur’s legs refused to support any weight for more than a few steps the next morning. No amount of massaging or coaxing brought relief from the numbness that stretched from his thighs to his toes, and it was all he could do to kick his legs weakly.

Alfred had already left for the day’s practice and the others were at work, so Arthur could only crawl agonizingly slowly to the kitchen to find a morsel of food that he could keep down and then crawl back to bed. He read one of Alfred’s comics for a while, then napped a bit. When he awoke, he reached over and opened the little white chest he kept on his bedside table. A new crystal had appeared in the Major section, emblazoned with the name _Romano Vargas_. Arthur spun it with a finger, a bittersweet feeling welling in his chest.

Yao. Gilbert. Antonio. Romano. He’d finished his major changes. That was something, at least. He still had two minors left to go, however, and his Flapstone project.

Despite all his efforts to lie to himself and ignore his situation, Arthur was forced to take an honest look at his life as he lay in his bed, unable to get up. He couldn’t deny the truth anymore—it was staring him right in the eyes.

He wasn’t going to finish the Program.

There was simply no way. He had only days left before he would be resorbed into the Dimension and not even a plan for how he could change two more lives in a minor way, let alone changing Alfred’s life in a way large enough to qualify for the Flapstone. Even with Kiku’s help, the task was insurmountable.

Hours ticked by. The silence deepened, growing heavier and pressing down on his chest. Wasn’t it about time for someone to come home? Fear kindled somewhere near his navel and began to spread upwards, restricting his lungs. What if the end came even sooner than he expected and he was resorbed into the Dimension here and now…alone?

He held his hands up in front of his face. They were pale but solid, no matter how hard Arthur stared at them. Were the fingers on this side starting to tingle? What would it feel like when he started being resorbed? Would it hurt? When would his consciousness cease to exist?

Fear gave way to panic, which welled up in his chest and left him gasping for breath. No matter how he thrashed, he couldn’t seem to catch a full breath. His heart pounded, threatening to crash through his rib cage or explode out of his throat. Was this it?

He clutched at the front of his pajama top, tearing the top few buttons off, before leaning over the side of his bed and retching onto the floor. His poor breakfast came back up, burning his throat. Still, the panic refused to subside.

Over the commotion of his heart pounding and his own ragged breathing, Arthur heard keys jingle in the lock on the front door, followed by the sound of the door swinging open and footsteps entering the flat. The cheery whistling suggested it was Alfred and some of the pressure in Arthur’s chest dissipated immediately at the familiar sound. _Alfred_ , he thought desperately.

The American puttered around in the kitchen for a moment, likely surprised by the mess Arthur had made trying to reach food, before coming into the bedroom. The smell and sight of Arthur’s situation hit him simultaneously and he dropped his practice bag in surprise. “Artie! What the hell?” He hurried to the bed.

Ignoring the fact that Alfred was still sweaty from practice, Arthur sat up as well as he could and threw himself into his boyfriend’s arms. Alfred’s familiar warmth and smell went to work loosening the rest of the knot in Arthur’s lungs and he burrowed further into Alfred’s chest. “I knew you weren’t doing well last night, but I thought a good night of sleep would fix you,” Alfred explained, wrapping his arms around the angel. “I guess not, huh? Did Yao’s buns give you food poisoning? You didn’t eat any of those weird deep fried jellybeans, did you?”

Shaking his head, Arthur pulled back slightly. “No, it’s not that.”

“Oh, good. Well, you’ve got some…let’s go into the bathroom and get you cleaned up.”

Again, Arthur shook his head, not meeting Alfred’s eyes. “I can’t,” he said, his voice shaking.

Alfred frowned. “What? Why not?”

“It’s my legs,” Arthur explained. “They’re not…I can’t move them.”

“What?” Alfred repeated, his frown intensifying. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gestured down at his pajama pant-covered legs. “When I woke up they were just like this. They won’t move. This is the most I can do.” He clenched his fists and worked his legs, managing to move them only slightly. “They aren’t asleep. They just won’t move.”

Alfred’s eyes skimmed Arthur’s body, looking for some answer. When he found none, he shook his head. “We have to take you to the hospital. They’ll…wait, have you just been lying here all day? Why didn’t you…you don’t have a phone, do you? And we just stopped paying the landline bills, huh…”

“I knew you’d come back eventually,” Arthur explained. “There’s no use taking me to the hospital. Even if your human doctors could correctly identify the breakdowns going on in my body, they have no medicine to cure it. The only ones who could stop it now are specialists in Heaven.”

The longer Arthur talked, the more upset Alfred became. “You’re…this is the Halfway Sickness, right?” He pulled out his cell phone, opening a calendar app. “I thought you still had…what are we going to do? How close are you to finishing your wings? Why are you shaking your head?”

“Alfred,” Arthur said softly, lying back against his pillows. “Listen…”

“No,” Alfred interrupted, already sensing where the conversation was heading. “Stop.”

“I’m not--”

“ _Stop_.”

“There’s no way I--”

“Don’t you _fucking_ say it!” Alfred shouted, dropping his cell phone back on the bed and putting his hands over his ears as if blocking the sound could also block the reality.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Alfred could be such a child sometimes…but he loved that side of him just as much as the other sides. “Alfred, listen,” he said, tugging the man’s hands away from his ears. “Please.”

Alfred finally looked at him, water welling up in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up. Not yet.”

Smoothing the backs of his boyfriend’s hands with his thumbs, Arthur closed his eyes. “It’s not that I’m giving up, Al. I’m going to keep fighting until…until the end. But you need to realize the truth of the matter.” He held up his hand, keeping Alfred from interrupting. “I was too slow. That’s all there is to it.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Alfred pleaded. “How long…?”

Wasn’t this the same as the conversation he’d had with Kiku not so long ago? Why did this one hurt so much more? The annoying prickle in Arthur’s eyes was back and he blinked, trying to rid himself of it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it won’t be long. The dysfunction will spread, I think, as neurotoxins pool but…I don’t even know what I’ll…how I’ll pass.”

Pass.

The word finally broke Alfred, whose face crumpled like a McDonald’s bag. Fat tears dripped down his cheeks and his hands tightened around Arthur’s. “Don’t…when did it get this bad?”

“It was sudden,” Arthur mumbled, feeling the need to apologize for his boyfriend’s pain. “I didn’t realize it either until…”

Alfred cupped Arthur’s face, tears still flowing. “What am I going to do without you?” He asked, rubbing Arthur’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I was sure you…I have so many more things I wanted to do with you. I wanted to show you fireflies and fireworks and…and dress up for Halloween and kiss under the mistletoe…”

The prickling intensified. Arthur didn’t know what to say. He wanted those things too…so much. “I’m sorry,” he finally choked out.

Alfred shook his head sharply. “No, _I’m_ the one who should be apologizing. I should have recognized…it’s not fair for me to cry like this when you’re the one d...” He stumbled over the word. “I just…I really love you. I haven’t told you often enough or spent enough time with you.”

“Don’t say that, Al,” Arthur gasped. “You’ve been better than I could have ever dreamt of. I love you too, you…you know? Don’t…”

He clutched Alfred tighter to him and they shook as the American wept.

oOoOo

Kiku didn’t need to be told what was happening when he came home to a tearful Alfred and quiet Arthur, who’d been helped to the couch. He offered to tell Matt what was happening to spare the discomfort of breaking the news, but Arthur refused and told Matt himself. Matt had no words and simply sat in silence beside his broken twin.

No one except Arthur was surprised when Alfred refused to go to the practice the next day. “What are you doing?” Arthur asked weakly, confused. “You can’t just sit here and be miserable until I…that’s ridiculous!”

“I can do what I want,” Alfred replied defiantly. “I already called the team and told them I’m not coming in for a while.”

“You’re going to get kicked off the team!” Arthur argued.

Alfred shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“ _I_ care, you clod!”

“Well, that’s tough!” Alfred said, tears filling his eyes again. “Stop worrying about me. Let me…let me take care of you while I can.”

Arthur had no response to that.

oOoOo

Visitors who heard of Arthur’s illness filtered in and out of the apartment over the next couple of days with well wishes and get-well cards, though none of them had any idea that they were actually saying goodbye.

Emma brought tea, Gilbert and Elizabeta told him jokes to make him laugh until his sides hurt, and Lili fretted over him for an entire afternoon. Im-Young brought a card and a basket of vegetarian foods from Yao.

Feliciano brought a heavily beribboned invitation to he and Ludwig’s wedding, scheduled July 14th. “Ludwig and I have a seat saved just for you, so you better get well and bring us a gift,” he said, grinning at the angel. “Just between you and me,” he said conspiratorially, leaning closer. “Romano didn’t come home from his date last night until this morning and won’t look me in the eye.”

Arthur smiled and cringed at the same time. “Well. Mazeltov to them, eh?”

“Who knows?” Feliciano said, winking. “Wanna bet on if they’ll dance together at the wedding reception? Romano’s never danced in public in his life unless he’s really, _really_ drunk.”

“Not a chance,” Arthur said, laughing and knowing full well they probably would. “I won’t believe it until I see it.”

Feliciano laughed too, standing and heading for the door. “You’re on. I’ll see you at the reception and you’ll owe me two plates of pasta! Heal fast!”

The Italian closed the door and Arthur ran his thumbs over the decorations on the invitation. The wedding would surely be beautiful.

oOoOo

When the day finally came that Arthur could no longer get out of bed, even with support, Alfred sat by his bed until sunset, reading books aloud and playing silly cat videos on the internet to entertain him. He’d barely spent an hour away from Arthur’s side, but he didn’t even leave for food this time.

When darkness filled the room, he checked his watch and stood up. “It’s time,” he announced.

“For what?” Arthur asked, confused. “It better be dinner time. You’ve barely eaten anything all day.”

“Not hungry,” Alfred replied, going to his closet and pulling a blanket from the top shelf. “It’s time for this. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He put the blanket, still folded, on the bed and left the room. Momentarily he returned, holding Arthur’s loafers. “Here, let me help you put these on.”

Arthur frowned tiredly as the American pulled his legs over the side of the bed and began pulling the shoes on over his argyle socks. “What is this? You know I can’t go anywhere, Al.”

“I know you can’t walk,” Alfred replied, pulling the second shoe on and straightening up. “But you don’t have to. I’m gonna carry you.”

Before he could properly protest, Arthur found himself being sat up, still in his pajamas. “Here, hold this,” Alfred instructed, putting the blanket in the angel’s arms and swinging him up to hold him bridal-style. “And we’re off!”

“Where are we going?” Arthur protested, holding onto Alfred’s neck with his remaining strength.

Alfred walked past Matt and Kiku, who were eating some sort of soup at the table. “You’ll see,” he said. “We’ll be back later, dudes.”

“Be safe,” Matt cautioned. “Call me if you get into trouble and I’ll come get you.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ve got him,” Alfred replied airily, setting Arthur on the floor and putting his own shoes on. “Hold on, Artie,” he said, hoisting him back into his arms.

oOoOo

Holding Arthur in his arms, Alfred left the apartment building and walked down the street, past the local grocer and the bus stop where Elizabeta and Ludwig waited for the bus to take them to their school campus. Even after Arthur was sure that Alfred must be getting tired of hauling him around, he kept walking—past the park, past Antonio and Emma’s shops, and on until he reached what looked like a high school. “Are we allowed here?” Arthur asked, looking around.

“Who knows,” Alfred answered. “Who cares? We’re allowed as long as they don’t catch us.”

Accepting Alfred’s answer, Arthur stayed quiet as Alfred turned a few corners and stepped over a low fence, walking onto a large grassy area. “This…this is a football pitch,” Arthur said, recognizing the markings on the field. “ _Real_ football, not American football.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes, mildly annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a _real_ football field. I call it a soccer field, but whatever.” He continued on until he was in the middle and then stopped. “Drop the blanket here.”

Arthur did as he was told and clung to Alfred’s neck as the American slowly spread it out using only one hand. Once it was spread, he was deposited onto it. Alfred stretched a bit and then eased himself down beside Arthur. “You can’t see the stars very well,” Arthur pointed out. The weak streetlights around the school buildings polluted the sky with their scant light, blotting out the stars.

Nodding, Alfred took his hand. “You’re right. We’re not here for the stars, though.”

“Eh? Don’t tell me…you didn’t bring me here to do something lewd on school property, did you?” Not that Arthur would dislike that, but surely there were better places.

Alfred flushed immediately. “What? No, dude, what the heck? I wouldn’t do that!”

“You _are_ a bit of a pervert when it comes to public displays of affection,” Arthur teased with a straight face.

“I am not! You…sh-shut up!” He looked away, covering part of his face with his hand. When his color had receded, he turned back. “We’re here for _these_ ,” he said, gesturing around.

Arthur finally paid attention to the air around him and found that it was full of the small floating lights he’d pointed out during Romano’s performance. “Oh!” He said, gasping a little. “It’s the…what did you call them? Flying fires?”

“Fireflies,” Alfred corrected, standing up and walking slowly off the blanket. He stood for a moment and then shot his hands forward, closing them around something. After sitting beside Arthur, he opened them slowly, letting the angel peek inside. “See?”

Arthur squinted. “It’s a bug! You’re telling me that wee—oh!” He cut off his words as the back end of the tiny beetle suddenly lit up like a fairy light. “How…?”

“Matt says they’re called Lampyridae. He’s getting his Masters in Biology, remember? I asked him about them and he said they use something called bioluminescence to light up like that.” Alfred opened his hands more and the tiny beetle took flight, lighting up once more in the air. “Aren’t they cool?”

They were more than cool. Arthur gaped, watching the insect buzz away. “May I…?” He asked, holding his hands out. Alfred nodded, standing and snaring another one of the little bugs. Sitting down again, he placed his hands over the angel’s. Arthur felt the tiny body transfer from Alfred’s larger hands into his own and closed the gap quickly. When Alfred retracted his hands, he opened his own just enough to see the firefly scuttling about inside. “Come on, mate,” he whispered. “Glow for me.”

The bug obliged shortly, lighting up Arthur’s palms. The angel watched it for a minute longer, then mimicked Alfred and released it into the air. A soft breeze blew, ruffling his hair, but the insects were not perturbed in the slightest.

Alfred watched Arthur’s wondering face, a warm smile spread across his own. “No fireflies in Heaven, huh?”

“No,” Arthur replied, not taking his eyes off the blinking sky. “The only lights are from the winged angels and some of the flora that have been bred to act as natural lamps. All angels have light, of course, but those of us without wings have only pathetic little glows…” He tore his eyes away from the sky to look down at his own skin, which was dull in the dim light. “I guess even that is gone now.”

It was strange and unsettling to see his skin without its usual sheen of angelic luminescence. Arthur continued to stare at his skin, disturbed in a way he couldn’t put into words. Alfred’s hands suddenly slid up his arms, stopping at his elbows. “We match now,” he said, grinning.

Upon comparison, it was true. The skin on Arthur and Alfred’s arms was almost indistinguishable now, though Alfred’s arms were dotted with tiny moles and freckles and Arthur’s had a little more hair. “Look, I’m human,” Arthur teased, pulling a face. “I think Hell is where demons with pitchforks stab bad humans and Heaven is filled with babies armed with love arrows! I eat meat and dye my hair weird colors!”

Alfred laughed, shaking his head. “Is that how you see us? Give us a break. It’s not our fault you guys hide from us like we’re diseased.”

“You _are_ diseased,” Arthur teased. “All these emotions. They’re contagious and angels don’t want them. Not to mention if we showed ourselves to you all, you’d immediately wage war on us and try to blow holes in the Dimension.”

“Hey, that’s…actually entirely probable,” Alfred finished lamely. “Dammit, humanity.” He slipped an arm around Arthur’s back, pulling him closer. “You’re telling me you don’t like our emotions?”

“I didn’t say that,” Arthur countered. “They’re just…overwhelming.” Life was simpler back when his main emotion was _boredom_. But now, having felt anger and envy and intense joy and love…he didn’t know how he would ever go back to a restricted palette of feelings.

At least now he wouldn’t have to.

Alfred put his chin on Arthur’s head, pulling him back until the angel’s back was against his chest. “What are you feeling now?”

Arthur was quiet for a while, letting Alfred’s warmth seep through the back of his pajama top. “Scared,” he whispered finally. He put his arm next to the American’s again, filling his eyes with the sight of their matching, glow-less skin. “I wish I really were human.”

“Me too,” Alfred mumbled into his hair.

The prickle was back in Arthur’s eyes, but he didn’t even try to force the stubborn tears out this time. He closed his eyes and, for a second, allowed himself to imagine that he was really human, that he’d never heard of the Dimensions or Wing Programs or Skinwalking or anything except whatever legends and myths he’d been brought up hearing.

Maybe he’d have met Alfred at some college mixer or in the line at the grocery store. They’d have fallen in love and eventually Arthur would take him home to meet his parents, two normal humans with normal lives. After dating for a while, Alfred would be the one to propose and together they’d plan a simple, small wedding.

They’d struggle to pay bills like every other young couple and one day maybe they’d adopt a child—some brat who would drink tea with Arthur and throw a ball around with Alfred and sass them both on the occasion. Eventually the child would go to school themselves and it would just be Arthur and Alfred left, living the rest of their short human days by each other’s side. They would celebrate birthdays and holidays and anniversaries and laugh at every single one of each other’s new wrinkles and gray hairs.

It would be fun and painful and exciting and miserable all in their own seasons but it wouldn’t matter because at the end of the day they’d come home and sleep beside each other. Every night they’d hold hands and pray that reincarnation was true so they could find each other in the next life and the one after that because they’d be sure that their love was a fire that even death couldn’t extinguish.

“Arthur?” Alfred’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Arthur opened his eyes, tasting something sweet. He reached a hand up to his cheeks and his fingers came away wet with a pearly, glistening substance. “What the…?” He said, staring at it.

“Are you crying?” Alfred asked, confused. “I’ve never seen tears like that before.”

More of the pearlescent liquid slid down his face and Arthur found that it blurred his vision when he blinked. “Impossible,” he muttered. “Angels can’t cry.”

“I dunno much about angel biology,” Alfred said, turning the angel around to face him and catching one of the drops on his fingers. “But this sure looks like it. What were you thinking about?”

“I was just…thinking about what would happen if I were human and…how much I love you,” Arthur muttered, trying to wipe the stuff off his face. Every time he wiped it away, however, more fell from his lashes. “Bloody hell…”

Clear tears filled Alfred’s eyes, but he had nothing to say. His eyes eventually overflowed also, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. Instead, he wrapped Arthur in his arms, burying his face in the angel’s neck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he whispered after a moment. “If you had to fall, though, I’m so glad you fell into my arms.”

The pearly tears came faster now and Arthur felt a sob rise in his chest. “M-me too,” he replied, clutching at Alfred’s back with all of his strength. “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Alfred. I really, really do.”

Alfred sniffed and pulled back, looking Arthur in the eyes. “I love you too,” he cried. “So much!”

When Alfred kissed him, Arthur was surprised to find that the human’s tears were salty. As their lips met again and again, their tears mingled, sweet and salty—the flavor of sadness. Around them, the glow of the fireflies blinked an uneven rhythm of summer until, one by one, even they disappeared.

oOoOo

As the night wore on, the wind grew chillier. When Arthur started to shiver, Alfred agreed that it was time to go home. As they walked back, Arthur clutched at Alfred’s shirt. “Is it horribly selfish of me to ask you to stay with me…”

Alfred’s hold tightened. “I won’t leave your side.”

“Even…even until…?”

“Until the end,” Alfred promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur isn't the first angel to cry, but he's in a pretty small group of angels who've ever achieved the feat. 
> 
> You know who else is in this group? Shelly. 
> 
> @FuckLife: You ARE a genius. What's going to happen next? Don't worry--it's already written haha


	20. Reluctant Goodbye

The end came faster than Alfred expected. He’d fallen asleep beside Arthur after they’d returned from their outing and slept deeply until a thump on the wall of the apartment woke him up. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and turned to the still-sleeping angel beside him. Something thumped on the wall again, sounding closer, but Alfred ignored it and reached out to shake Arthur. “Artie?”

There was no response. Fear leapt in Alfred’s chest and he threw off the covers before turning Arthur on his back. His heart fluttered when he saw that Arthur was still breathing, but the movement of the angel’s chest was only barely noticeable and his skin was pallid. “Artie?” Alfred asked again, leaning over him.

When there was, again, no response, Alfred put his hands to Arthur’s cheeks and chafed them, trying to bring blood back into them. They remained stubbornly pale and cool to the touch.

“No,” Alfred muttered, patting the cheeks more forcefully and praying that Arthur’s eyes would open again. If he’d known that the last time he’d ever see those handsome green eyes would be when they said goodnight, he’d have never let them fall asleep. He’d have stayed up all night just to pull another smile from Arthur’s face, another sharp word from his lips, another anything.

_BANG_. Something thumped even closer, sounding like it was trying to get through Im-Young and Kaoru’s window on the other side of the hall. Alfred ignored it.

How could he have slept through his last moments with the man he loved? Tears coursed down his face, not even bothering to linger on his lashes first. _Don’t leave me like this, Arthur,_ he thought, desperately trying to warm the angel’s cooling skin.

When he looked down at his hands, he gasped. Arthur’s fingertips were clear and translucent like glass. Even as he watched, the color was leeching slowly from his knuckles. He held the colorless digits in his own hand, trying to warm color back into them, but they were light and hollow like shells.

Alfred dropped them and immediately felt ashamed of his own squeamishness. So this was how it happened? The color and life would eke out of Arthur until he was nothing but a glasslike shell of himself? When would his breathing stop? Was this process hurting him even though he couldn’t express it?

Feeling like he was touching a corpse, Alfred took Arthur’s hands back in his own. He’d promised, hadn’t he? Until the end.

**_BANG_**. This time the sound came from the window on the bedroom wall. It startled Alfred, who jerked his head up to see a shadow moving behind the blinds of the window, through which bright light was streaming. **_BANG_**. He stood, reluctantly dropping Arthur’s cold hand, and slowly pulled the blinds up.

Light, brighter than any morning he’d ever experienced, flooded through the glass and attacked his eyes, making him squint and hold up a hand. As his eyes adjusted, he began to make out a small figure floating outside the window, desperately banging its fists against the panes of glass. “Open the window!” He heard a female voice shout. “Please!”

Still squinting, he could see now that the figure was a girl being held aloft by massive, feathered wings.

Another angel?

He flung open the window and the girl soared in, her bare feet landing softly on the carpet. She was shorter than Arthur and her skin was darker, but Alfred recognized her glow as the same kind Arthur had had when he first arrived, though the girl’s was much brighter. She had big brown eyes and dark brown hair that was currently coming loose from the red ribbons tying it into two tails. As she hurried over to the bed where Arthur lay, Alfred realized that she was wearing the exact same toga-like outfit that Arthur had worn the first time they met.

“Ah, he’s still breathing,” the girl cried, her voice rife with relief. She ran a hand down Arthur’s cheek and, for the first time, Alfred became fully aware what was happening. He stepped back to the bedside and, without thinking, slapped her hand away from his boyfriend’s face.

“Get away from him,” he growled, blocking her access.

Her eyes narrowed at first, then softened. “You’re Alfred?”

“Who wants to know?”

Her wings fluttered, dropping a few feathers, and she clenched her fists. “I’m here to take Arthur. Please move away.”

Alfred scowled. “Like hell you are. Who are you?”

“My name is Shelly,” she said, reaching a hand out and putting it on Alfred’s bare arm. He immediately felt a wave of relaxation and calm go through his body. “I’m Arthur’s friend. I’ve come to take him back to Heaven.”

Flinching away from her strange, drug-like touch, Alfred processed her words. “Take him back…can…can he be saved?”

Shelly nodded and more hair slipped from her ribbons. “Yes, but I have to take him _now_. If his absorption continues any further, we may not be able to save him.” When Alfred hesitated, she stepped forward, hand still outstretched. “Please don’t make me put you to sleep.”

Still irritated at how she had touched Arthur, Alfred hesitated for the shortest of moments before stepping aside. “Do you have to take him?” He asked. “Isn’t there any way to treat him here?”

Shelly shook her head, slipping her arms behind Arthur’s head and knees. “It’s being here that’s killing him. He needs to go to our detoxification hospit immediately.” She hefted him into her arms with minimal difficulty and turned to the human. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice unsteady. She hadn’t expected the human to be so earnest.

The tears that had been startled away by the angel girl’s appearance refilled Alfred’s eyes. She made her way back to the window and he realized she had said nothing about returning. “Wait,” he cried, tears blocking his vision. “When he’s healed…when he’s better…will you bring him back to me? Please…”

She turned, her face twisted in pain. “I can’t…I don’t know.”

“Let me say goodbye,” he choked out.

“…quickly.”

The girl turned her head and Alfred leaned over Arthur’s body, cupping his face in his hands. “I’ll wait for you,” he muttered, kissing his cold lips one last time. “I promise. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

Arthur was pulled away and Alfred caught one last glimpse of his face before the girl jumped out the window, spreading her wings to catch herself in midair. She whirled around once more to face him, Arthur’s head lolling against her chest. “Thank you for taking care of him,” she called. “I’m sorry.”

Alfred rushed to the window, but she soared away before he could reply. He watched her until she was nothing but the smallest speck in the clouds. He blinked, the light hurting his eyes, and the speck, along with Arthur, was gone.

The sun shone gently through the window, a warm light unlike the angel’s blinding glow. Voices could be heard chattering and laughing on the sidewalk below. People were happy. The weather was beautiful. Noise from behind the bedroom door indicated that Matt and Kiku were waking up to begin another normal day.

If it weren’t for the feathers on the carpet and the aching, gaping hole in Alfred’s heart, the whole thing might have been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the finale. Thank you so much to all of you who have stayed with the gang and me 'til now! Please come back next week for the conclusion to Arthur's journey!
> 
> @Theclocksays7: Thank you for your comment! I'm glad to see you here! Arthur is, actually, a very good angel. It's a shame Heaven doesn't see it. 
> 
> @Random commenter: Arghhhh your comment makes my heart hurt with happiness. Thank you so much for clicking on it and giving it a chance! Can you ever *truly* quit the Hetalia fandom? I hope you find the end satisfying!
> 
> @FuckLife: Interesting predictions...guess we'll find out next week. I hope your body is ready xD


	21. Ending the Dream

“You want to do _what_?” The priest asked, glaring at the man on the other side of the desk.

“I need to get a letter to Heaven,” the man repeated, his eyes serious behind his rectangular glasses. “Can you do that? Can you ceremonially burn it or sacrifice it or something?”

The priest rubbed a hand over his face. “What’s your name?”

“Alfred F. Jones, sir.”

“Alfred, are you _trying_ to make fun of this church? God doesn’t take kindly to blasphemers, you know.”

Alfred frowned, shaking his head. “I’m not, I swear. I just…I can’t think of any other way to get this letter there. You guys talk about Heaven a lot and I just thought maybe you had some sort of connection.”

The priest sighed. “If you’re trying to talk to God, you can just pray. You don’t have to write a letter.”

“Well, it’s not a god I’m trying to contact,” Alfred explained. “This letter is for an angel named Arthur Kirkland. I don’t think praying covers this kind of thing.”

The priest felt a headache coming on and sent up a prayer himself. “You’re trying to communicate with an angel?”

“He’s my boyfriend. Or used to be, anyway. It was a while ago.”

“You’re trying to communicate with an angel who used to be your boyfriend?”

“Right. I want to know if he’s feeling better and when he can come back. This weird demon guy he introduced me to last winter is back and keeps flirting with my brother and I need to know if killing demons is a crime. Also I just really miss him.”

oOoOo

_He didn’t have to call security_ , Alfred thought, rubbing his arms where the burly security guard had grabbed him. He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed, his breath pluming out like smoke from a dragon’s lair. Maybe Kiku would have an idea about the letter.

Kiku had been invaluable lately—always near with a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to lean on. Alfred was thankful he had such good friends. It had been easy to keep busy with them during autumn, but now winter had come again and it took him back…

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the taste of snow soon to fall. _It’s almost Christmas_ , he thought, looking morosely up at the gray sky. _Where are you?_

_I miss you._

oOoOo

**5 Months Earlier**

Arthur woke suddenly, pain jolting through his veins like magma. He thrashed and moaned, trying to escape it, but the more he moved, the worse the agony. Bright, painful light burned his eyes when he tried to open them, so he abandoned the effort. “He’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice said, worried. “It’s too early. His blood pressure is spiking.”

“Push the sedative again,” another voice instructed.

The pain, the pain…!

This was worse than death, surely. Something stung his arm, barely noticeable through the haze of misery, and Arthur’s mind faded to black again.

oOoOo

Waking came slower this time—gentler—and the pain was but an echo of the all-consuming roar it had been before. Bit by bit, Arthur tested his extremities and found he could move them all. The light was still painful, but it didn’t blind him when he opened his eyes.

The ceiling was unfamiliar, but a nostalgic smell hung in the room. It smelled almost like…“Shelly!” He rasped, looking down to find the woman asleep at the foot of the bed in which he lay.

Her dark head jerked up immediately and she gasped. “Arthur! You’re awake!” In an instant she was all over him, examining his face and chafing his cheeks. “How do you feel? Oi, don’t try to sit up. Just rest.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re at Spéir Hospital, in the Halfway Poisoning ward,” she replied, still looking at him as if he would melt away at any moment. “Here, drink some water.”

Arthur accepted the paper cup gratefully, sipping lightly at the contents. The liquid in the cup did not upset his stomach the way the water had on Earth…ah! Earth! The events of the past few months he could remember began to return and he frowned. “How did I get here?”

Shelly stroked his hair, smiling. “I brought you back. I almost didn’t make it in time.”

“You? But…” He sat halfway up, finally taking a close look at her. “You have wings!”

“I sure do!” Her wings fluttered and she grinned in a happy but embarrassed way. “Bet you didn’t think that would ever happen, did you?”

He continued to stare, trying to puzzle out what had transpired in his absence. “How…?”

“I did the Wing Program here in Heaven,” she explained, taking one of his hands in hers. “As soon as the High Board informed me that they were not going to bring you back from Earth physically, I applied for the fast track Program. I knew that you would try to do the Program on Earth, but I heard some of the older angels saying it had never been done successfully.” She played with his fingers, staring at their hands. “I knew I had to come get you myself if it was the last thing I did. I couldn’t let you die alone down there.”

_I wasn’t alone_ , Arthur thought suddenly. Alfred’s face popped into his mind and he felt a jolt of panic.

Alfred. He hadn’t said goodbye.

“How long have I been out?” He asked, ignoring her tale.

She thought, slightly taken aback. “A long time.”

“How long?”

“At least three months,” she said gently, clearly afraid of how he was going to react. “That’s how long it’s taken to clear your system of the toxins you accumulated on Earth.”

Arthur laid back down slowly, mind racing. _Three months?_ He thought, sweat beading on his face. “Did anyone tell Alfred I’m alright? How is he?”

Seeming to choose her words carefully, Shelly spoke softly. “All communication with the humans you lived with has been banned.”

Silence sucked the air out of the room. Arthur goggled at Shelly, whose eyes were sympathetic but unapologetic. “Banned?” He finally whispered, the word barely audible.

Shelly clutched her tunic, trying to hide the trembling of her hands. “You know it’s against Code to reveal the existence of angelkind to humans.”

“I was living there for six months! How did you expect me to keep something like that secret? They’d guessed something was wrong within a week!” Arthur protested.

Shelly nodded conciliatorily. “I know. That’s why the High Board isn’t taking any more aggressive action against you.” When Arthur didn’t reply, she pressed the point further. “Honestly, a communication ban is better than I’d expected.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say. She was right. He’d broken the Code flagrantly. He’d dug holes in the Dimension, gotten himself stranded on Earth, fallen in love with a human, and committed a dozen other infractions. Not only had he revealed the truth about angels, he’d put demonkind at risk as well. He was lucky he wasn’t being thrown in prison or worse, exiled between the Dimensions.

_Banned_. So Alfred had no idea where he was or what was happening and Arthur wasn’t allowed to change that. He’d be watched like a hawk by the High Board members and any attempt he made to send messages to Earth would end poorly. They might even restrict his ability to use the Angelic Oversight Facilities to check on his human friends. Would he ever see Alfred’s face again?

Noticing the quickly wilting expression on his face, Shelly patted his head again. “Don’t worry about all that now. You should go back to sleep. You’ll heal faster if you sleep.”

Arthur nodded and pulled the covers further up. Maybe if he slept he’d wake up back in 914H.

oOoOo

Arthur was released from the hospital within a fortnight, but the doctors placed him on strict bed rest a further ten days. Shelly stayed by his side the entire time and, once he was cleared, helped him relearn to walk. The process took longer than he’d anticipated, but Shelly never once made him feel like a burden.

Once he could travel relatively easily without exhausting himself, he was forced to attend a hearing during which his actions over the past year were examined and judged. The hearing lasted six hours and shame built in Arthur’s chest until every breath was a burden. He hated his precious memories with his friends being trotted out in front of the powerful angels who’d all but signed his death order when he first fell to Earth.

They didn’t care about his friendships or the bonds he’d built. They didn’t care if Alfred sat the rest of his life and wondered what happened to him. They didn’t care if Lili was hurt by the thought that he’d left town without saying goodbye. They didn’t care about Arthur’s life then and they certainly didn’t care about his feelings now.

Of course they didn’t. Laws were laws and they would still be the laws long after Arthur was nothing but an inkblot in a judicial textbook.

oOoOo

_The temperatures must be dropping by now on Earth,_ Arthur thought, looking at the position of the constellations in the northern Sanctum. Ophiuchus was bright and the Cherubs were waking up from their hibernation, signaling the advent of the dark season. What was Alfred doing now? Celebrating the end of the harvest season? Buying gifts to celebrate the Yuletide?

Arthur sat, bringing his knees up to his chest. The night was mild, as was the usual in Heaven. Shelly had instructed him to wait for her tonight outside the village limits, almost a mile away from the Advanced Cadet quarters. What was she up to?

He couldn’t thank her enough for all she’d done. She’d saved his life on Earth and then helped him regain a life in Heaven. He could spend the rest of his existence trying to repay her and never perforate the surface. If she told him to wait in Hell itself, he’d do it.

A glow down the road heralded her arrival before he heard her footsteps. She’d tucked her wings into sleeves, trying to dim her angelic light, but it hadn’t helped much. “You’re here!” She said happily, waving. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was afraid you’d have left by now.”

“Not a chance,” Arthur replied, smiling warmly at her. “Odd place to meet, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“A bit,” she agreed, looking around. “I’ve a reason for it, though. Let’s go into the trees a little ways.” At her beckoning, he followed her until they couldn't see the village lights at all and the path was lit only by Shelly and the phosphorescent forest fungi. He waited for her to speak. “I have news,” she said.

“News?”

She nodded. “The High Board has decided to allow you to use the Angelic Oversight Facilities to finish your Wing Program.”

Arthur’s breath hissed sharply. “Honest?”

“Honest.”

“What’s the catch?” There was always a catch.

Shelly shrugged. “No catch that I could find. You still can’t contact any humans and they’ll be recording your use of the Facilities, but otherwise it’s all yours.”

He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Bloody unbelievable,” he swore softly. “I’ve been given absolution.” He looked up at her sharply. “Surely that wasn’t why you called me out this far.”

She smiled at his perception. “You’re right. I have something for you. Two things, actually.”

His pulse quickened as she dug around in her wing sling. She produced two items—a letter and an object he immediately recognized. “My Program box,” he said, reaching for it. “I thought I’d lost it for good.”

“I took it when I brought you back to Heaven, but the Board members confiscated it until today,” she explained. “As soon as it hit the shelves I nabbed it.”

Arthur opened it, smiling at the way the crystals glittered in her light. She watched him, her face soft. “I thought you’d want it back.”

Counting the crystals, Arthur tilted his head in surprise. “The number is off,” he said, recounting. “There’s an extra Minor.” He squinted at the tiny golden crystals, trying to read the writing. Shelly moved closer, lending light. _Vash Zwingli_. “Vash?” Arthur muttered. “When did this happen?” He remembered reading the crystals on his last day and Vash hadn’t been among them.

“I also brought you this.” Shelly held out the envelope she’d retrieved earlier..

Closing the little white chest, Arthur reached for the envelope. His name was written on the front in a simple, square hand. He slipped the envelope open, pulled out the letter inside, and gasped. “How…?” He breathed.

Shelly grinned, patting her own shoulder. “I did some covert travel under the excuse of gathering information.” Her smile dropped and she was serious again. “The human doesn’t know I took it. I’m not allowed to communicate with them either.”

It didn’t matter. This letter was more valuable than Arthur could say. He wasted no time in reading it.

_Dear Artie,_ the letter began.

_I’m writing this letter because I don't know what else to do. I tried praying, but you always told me that was nonsense and it didn’t work anyway. I hope this gets to you._

_Britannia isn’t the same without you. I guess I don't need to explain how much I miss you but I’m going to do it anyway. I miss you so much it should be illegal! I thought I saw you on Halloween, but it was just some teenager dressed like an angel. They got it all wrong, though, and you would have died laughing if you’d seen it. They were basically wearing underwear even though it was cold as crap outside and they had this magic wand thing. You guys don’t use magic wands, right? Please tell me you don’t. That would be so lame._

_Feliciano and Ludwig’s wedding was great. You would have liked it. I couldn’t really tell Feliciano where you’d gone, but I told him that you would have been there if you could. He said he understood and wants me to let you know that Romano and Antonio didn’t dance at the reception, but we did have to pull them out of the wine cellar later. I guess their relationship is public now haha!_

_Gilbert finally moved out of Ludwig’s apartment and into a place of his own. He keeps trying to talk Elizabeta into moving in with him but she keeps telling him to go to hell. I can’t help but laugh when people say that now that I know it’s a real place. By the way, that demon named Francis is back and he’s hitting on Matt. Can I kill him? Is that legal?_

_Vash and Lili made up, btw. It took so long. I thought they’d never speak to each other again, but Vash finally visited Lili’s new apartment. She said he gave her a box of guns as a housewarming gift. SEE I TOLD YOU IT WASN’T WEIRD! Perfectly normal!_

_Lili says hi. I had to tell her about you, dude. She wouldn’t stop asking me where you went and how she could get in contact with you. I tried to tell her we broke up and you moved away, but she said there was no way you’d do that and that I was a bad liar. So…sorry about that. I can’t believe she actually believed me. I thought she’d think I was crazy. She’s a nice girl, isn’t she? Anyway, she says to get well soon and you can come visit her whenever you’re ready._

_I hope you’re ready soon. I’m ready to see you!_

Arthur’s hands shook as he continued to read.

_I don't how long it will take for you to heal and convince your angel government or whoever to let you come back, but I’m going to wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes. So heal quickly and then come back to me, okay?_

_I love you. I always will._

_Yours (seriously),_

_Alfred F. Jones_

Arthur stared at the letter as if new words might appear on it if he stared long enough. He blinked a few times, but the moisture that used to invade his eyes on Earth refused to come. So Alfred knew what had happened and had smoothed everything over with the others. That was a relief. Lili’s new knowledge wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t breaking rules if a human told another human about angels, right?

The pain in the letter bled through strongly, however, and squeezed Arthur’s heart. Alfred still missed him and expected him to come back. How could he explain that he was being watched and that his absence wasn’t because he didn’t want to go back to Earth? How long would it take before Alfred gave up?

_I’ll wait as long as it takes_.

Would he ever give up?

Folding the letter gently, Arthur put it in his chest pocket. As much as he missed his argyle sweater vests, he had to admit that all the pockets in his angelic uniform were useful. As long as he didn’t forget and throw it in the wash, Alfred’s letter would stay hidden and safe next to his heart.

“Thank you,” he told Shelly. “I mean it. I don’t know how to tell you what this means to me.”

Shelly’s cheeks reddened in the dark and she shrugged a little. “That’s what best friends do, right? You’d do it for me.”

She was right. After all she’d done, he’d do anything for her. “When can I get started back on my Program?”

“Tomorrow, if you want,” she replied. “Do you need help with ideas?”

He shook his head. “That’s against the rules.”

“So you’re going to start caring about rules now, huh?” She teased.

“I’m going to be a model citizen,” he joked, smirking. “Just you watch.”

oOoOo

As it turned out, Shelly was assigned to help him figure out the controls for the Angelic Oversight Facilities’ Program rooms. Each room had enough screens for two angels to work simultaneously, so she flitted back and forth between him and another cadet who was beginning his own Project.

The rooms were designed to enable an angel to monitor their assigned humans at strategic times while using controls to make small changes in that human’s reality. One knob could influence emotions, another could alter intentions, and so on. There was a button for accessing a chosen human’s thought log and another for scrolling through years of memories.

Now that he’d lived among humans and seen how their lives up close, Arthur was appalled at how little privacy angels afforded their subjects. Sure, the point of the Program was to make positive changes in human lives without altering their basic destiny, but what gave them the right to make changes at all without permission? Was it really so wrong for humans to know about angels and demons when their minds were being tampered with daily?

He ran his fingers over the controls, wondering where to begin. The giant screen before him was blank, waiting for a command.

He reached the keyboard and stood before it, gathering courage. When he twisted around, Shelly was there, nodding encouragement. Trembling, he typed the letter _A_ , his fingers barely touching the flat keys. _L. F. R. E. D. F. J. O. N. E. S._

Blue eyes under wheat-gold hair filled the screen, and Arthur’s heart stumbled.

Alfred blinked, unaware that he was under surveillance. He was sitting on the couch in the living room of 914H, working on a laptop. A half-drank mug of a dark liquid was steaming on the little table beside him. Working the camera a bit, Arthur could see the recognizable sleeve of Kiku’s favorite home haori just barely in frame.

The angel swallowed hard. He’d known it would be hard to see Alfred again, but, once again, thinking about a thing and doing it were two entirely separate experiences. His eyes feasted on the rise and fall of Alfred’s chest as the American breathed gently. Arthur wanted nothing more than to lay his head on that chest and hear the thump of the heart underneath Alfred’s ribs. Alfred’s heartbeat was always slow and strong—an athlete’s heart.

Arthur still needed to complete his Flapstone and one Minor change. Setting aside the Minor for the moment, he racked his brains, thinking through every detail about Alfred he could remember. _How do I change your life?_ Arthur wondered, filling his senses with the sight of his boyfriend.

What did Alfred need? Intel reported that he’d already gotten a new job at a small tech company doing minor programming. Arthur wondered if he missed his football team. Walking a few steps over, he combed through the American’s recent thoughts, searching by the keyword _football_.

Surprisingly, Alfred seemed to be content with his new job and was secretly glad he didn’t have to wake up at five every morning for practice. Arthur snorted. Alfred was actually lazy beneath all that energy, wasn’t he? At least he was still hitting the gym with Gilbert to hold off the inevitable pounds he’d gain from quitting his sport.

Now what? Arthur backed out of the keyword filter and instead filtered Alfred’s thoughts by most common motif. _Let’s see what goes through your mind_ , he mused to himself. How many times had he wanted to do something like this when he was on Earth? Their relationship would have been so much easier.

The screen blinked out a list and Arthur stared at his own name in the number one spot.

_Bollocks_ , he mentally swore, leaning against the control panel to keep himself from sinking to the ground. _Of course._

He exited out of the list, trying not to look at it, and covered his face with his hands. _There’s only one thing wrong with you, Alfred. Me._

Gentle hands grasped his shoulders and he didn’t need to look to know who it was. “Shelly,” he acknowledged softly.

“Are you alright?” She asked, worry lacing her words. “Do you need to stop?”

Arthur laughed hollowly. Stopping now would only postpone the inevitable. He knew how to complete his Program. Even so, he wasn’t sure if he could look at Alfred’s face again today. “I think I’ll call it a day,” he admitted, dragging his hands down his face. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

Shelly nodded, reaching out and blanking the screen for him. “Of course.”

He gathered his few things and headed for the door. As he reached for the knob, he turned back around. “Say, Shelly?”

“Yes?”

“Could you come with me tomorrow? Please.”

The girl nodded fervently. “Of course.”

oOoOo

When they reunited the next day, Shelly could tell that Arthur hadn’t gotten any sleep. She offered him wakeberry juice, but he declined, his face set. “This won’t take long,” he said quietly.

The other cadet hadn’t checked in yet, so it was just the two of them in the Oversight room when Arthur typed in Alfred’s name the way he’d done the day before. The machine matched the name with Arthur’s memories, pulling up the correct Alfred without making Arthur choose from a list. Once more, Alfred’s face filled the screen.

Arthur watched him smile and chat with an unseen partner for a moment. “When I sorted Alfred’s memories yesterday, I realized that I’d already made a lot of changes in his life,” he explained to Shelly, who stood beside him, looking up at the screen as well. “I made him lose his place on his football team, I told him about the other races, I interrupted his growing relationship with someone else, I caused him to fall in love with me...and then I left him. I dug a huge hole for myself in his life and then left it empty. He’s waiting for me to fill it, but I can’t.”

He turned to Shelly, pain blossoming on his face. “He’ll never fill the hole I left, Shelly, no matter how hard he tries. He’s too stubborn. I have to fill it for him.”

Shelly looked between his eyes, trying to read the answer to this riddle. “How?” She finally asked.

“By removing what made the hole in the first place,” he answered. “Me.”

Realization lit Shelly’s eyes and her mouth dropped open a little. “That’s…are you sure? Are you sure that’s the only way?”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know if it’s the only way, but it’s the right way.” When he opened his eyes again, they were full of agony. “Stay with me while I do it?”

Shelly nodded wordlessly, reaching out and taking hold of a fold in his tunic.

Drawing strength from her presence, Arthur turned back to the control panel and began working the knobs. “It can’t just be Alfred,” he murmured. “It won’t work that way.”

He typed in a name on keyboard. _Lili Zwingli_. Her face appeared on the screen immediately. She was at the dojo, practicing high kicks. Arthur smiled softly, then opened her memory banks and set to work filtering everything that had anything to do with him and the time they’d spent together.

Delete. Lili paused mid-kick, blinked, and then kicked again.

Feliciano was, of course, eating a bowl of lasagna when Arthur wiped his memories. He dropped his fork, an odd expression crossing his face. He then looked down at the mess he’d made and laughed.

Gilbert paused, the rest of the sentence he’d been typing forgotten. He shook his head, deciding he needed more beer.

One by one, Arthur erased himself from his friends’ memories. Antonio. Romano. Yao. Elizabeta. Emma. Kiku. Matt.

Finally, it was time. Arthur pulled Alfred up for the last time, memorizing the American’s smile. Hands trembling, he repeated the steps, filtering all memories he appeared in. His finger hovered over the trigger and he squeezed his eyes together, but no tears came.

_Goodbye…and thank you_.

Delete.

oOoOo

“So what did you do to that other guy?” Shelly asked as they walked down the hall. “The one from…Japan, did you say? He was your last Minor, right?”

“I didn’t do anything big,” Arthur replied, shrugging. “He had the right feelings and conviction inside himself already. He just needed a little push to be able to express those feelings the right way. I gave him that push; that’s all.”

Shelly put her hand on his shoulder. “I think that was a lovely thing to do. You’ve absolutely earned your wings, I think. Speaking of which, we’re here.” She halted beside a door with a plaque reading _Wing Creation_.

Arthur opened the door, revealing a small, sparse room large enough to fit two or three persons. He stepped inside, but Shelly stayed on the other side of the threshold. “Put the box in that cubbyhole and type your identification code in the keypad beside it,” she instructed. “The room will do the rest itself.”

As he crossed the room, Arthur hesitated. “Will it hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Shelly promised.

Arthur nodded and stepped up to the indentation in the wall Shelly spoke of. He opened his little white chest one last time, reading the names again and relishing the way the giant diamond twinkled in the Flapstone space. It read _Alfred F. Jones_ in brilliant gold letters. Arthur hugged the chest tightly, then put it into the cubby, where it floated.

As soon as he typed his code in the keypad, light flooded the room, emanating from a column of pure light that rose in the center of the floor. “Step into the light!” Shelly called.

Arthur took a deep breath and did as she said. The light engulfed him, filling his senses. His shoulder blades itched briefly, then weight settled on his back and he flexed, feeling his new wings spread in a flurry of feathers. The column dissipated, but the light remained and Arthur realized he was illuminating the room himself. His skin glowed brightly, throwing twinkles on the wall like a lantern under water.

Shelly stepped toward him, holding out a new robe. He looked down to see his old one had been burned off and he and Shelly exploded in laughter. His heart was lighter than it had ever been—as if the incandescence in his skin had invaded his soul as well. He clothed himself, then pulled Shelly into a hug.

She squeaked at the sudden display of affection, but slowly returned the hug. “Thank you,” Arthur whispered, squeezing her more tightly. “You truly are and have always been my very best friend.”

Shelly finally pushed him away, face aflame. “D-don’t mention it,” she stuttered.

Arthur spread his wings again, scattering feathers like a hurricane. “Will this stop?” He asked irritably.

“Eventually,” Shelly replied, face still beet-red. “It helps a little if you use them to fly a bit.”

“Flying?” Arthur frowned. “I don’t know how.”

Shelly held out her hand. “I’ll teach you,” she offered. “What d’you say? Shall we take to the skies together?”

Arthur took her hand. It was small and soft, unlike Alfred’s, and it didn’t make his heart pound.

Not yet.

“Let’s go,” he agreed, leading her down the hall.

oOoOo

Alfred collapsed on his bed, sighing. Who would have thought Kiku would be so good at bowling? The Japanese man had won by a huge margin and then had the nerve to tease him about it afterwards. _So cheeky_ , Alfred thought, _and on a first date, too!_ Still, despite his stinging ego, he had to grin. It was great to see another side of Kiku emerge.

He sat up, rubbing his face and looking around the room. _I should clean if I ever wanna invite anyone in here._ Kiku was a very clean person and Alfred didn’t want him thinking he was some kind of a slob.

Even though he kind of was.

He pulled himself off the bed and started gathering socks he’d discarded on the floor before bed. How many pairs were down here? Is this why he was always having to buy more? _Geez_.

Something small and white caught Alfred’s eye and he reached for it. It was a fluffy white feather that had made its way under his bed somehow and gotten buried under various detritus.

He turned the feather over in his hands, running his fingers through the soft vane. Where did this come from? The window was closed and latched. Had someone tracked it in from outside? If it was a bird feather, it was likely to have mites and he should throw it out.

Alfred opened the window and let the fresh air wash over his face. It was a beautiful, cold day, but the soft sunshine promised spring just around the corner. As he held the feather out the window, a sudden smell wafted toward him. It was familiar and warm and had a note of earl grey tea. His heart squeezed and for a moment he was convinced he’d forgotten something important.

And then, just as it came, the smell was gone. Alfred opened his fingers, letting the feather float away into the bustle of the city. Peace settled in the man’s heart and he leaned on the windowsill, breathing deeply. What would he do today?

Anything was possible.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who stayed with Arthur, Alfred, and I through this journey! Now that we've reached our conclusion, I hope this story touched you in some way. 
> 
> I sort of figured I might get some hate by ending the story this way, but let me say that this ending was always the one I had planned since I first dreamt up Without Wings to Take Me Home. At times I played with the idea of keeping A/A together, but any way I spun it such a thing was impossible due to their circumstances. 
> 
> I strongly believe in the alchemy principle for stories; for anything characters gain in the end, something of greater or equal value must be lost. Arthur gained so much during his time on Earth, but it was tempered with the fact that, no matter how beautiful, it was always temporary. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you again and please let me know what you thought--even if you hated it!
> 
> @Theclocksays7: Indeed, all things come to an end! I'm so glad I had you cheering me on all the way through, though! Until we meet again!
> 
> @Fuck Life: Was your body ready?


End file.
